A Distance of 3000 Miles
by fakiagirl
Summary: 5000 kilometers; the distance between their two closest shores. A safe distance, close enough that they can see each other occasionally, but far enough away that neither of them will ever get hurt again. Then, one summer, Alfred visits. USUK.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: _Okay. So, I've been working on this for a long, long time. I started writing it early last February (nearly a year ago) and I started thinking about it a long time before that. It's basically "the" story I've wanted to write for this fandom. Updates may be slow because I want to get it perfect (in air quotes, obviously) the first time around. I'll update my other stories concurrently.

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><p><em>Chapter 1<em>

Alfred was sitting in his office, spinning back and forth idly in his desk chair, when the President entered. Alfred stopped his chair and perked up. "Hello, Mr. President. To what do I owe your visit?"

"Hello, Alfred." The President stood in front of his desk casually, hands in his pockets. "I have a bit of a job for you, if you're feeling well enough."

"Oh, yeah, I'm feeling better." Alfred leaned forward curiously. His Boss hadn't asked him for a favor for a while.

"I'm afraid you might find it a little boring. Our ratings in Europe have been decreasing, and people are concerned that our diplomatic relations are suffering. I'd like you to take a vacation there, just a couple of weeks, and talk to some of these countries." He produced a paper and handed it to Alfred. "They're listed in order of priority."

Alfred's eyebrows shot up. "This is a lot of countries." He scanned the list and a slight frown crossed his face. He looked up. "Arthur's on here? He's in the top five."

"Yes. Our ratings aren't down by very much in the UK by comparison, but we do share many ties with him. Visiting him is just a precautionary measure, but an important one. All these visits are precautionary."

Alfred's eye took on a familiar, determined glint. "Yes, sir."

The President smiled. "I'll count on you, then." He turned to leave, but then he paused and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, where would you like to stay first?"

"England."

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><p>Arthur sat in his office, grinding his teeth together as he stared at the paper before him. It was a report that was due the next day, but he was having a hard time concentrating. In fact, he seemed to be having a hard time concentrating on anything lately. The recession was wearing him out, and it wasn't even that big a deal for him, relatively. <em>I must be getting old, <em>he thought irritably. _I bet Alfred's hardly even feeling it. _He pulled out another paper from the stack at his right. This one was a proposal that he was supposed to have read three hours ago. He frowned at the small print for a few seconds. "Enough of this," he suddenly snapped at thin air, and threw down his pen. He leaned back heavily in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. _Yes, I bet Alfred's hardly even feeling it. He complained a little, but he's in no danger of going bankrupt, and he doesn't have to support all the others up here. _Arthur covered his eyes with one hand. It was terrifying, seeing countries go under like this. Trying to keep them afloat was taking it out of him, and he knew everyone else was suffering too.

_I wonder what Alfred is doing right now, _he thought suddenly. He removed his hand from his eyes and sat up. _Surely he has some time to chat. _He picked the telephone up off its hook and dialed the number of Alfred's office, which was where he was most likely to be. It rang several times.

"Hello, Office of the President. How may I help you?"

Arthur frowned. "May I please speak to Alfred?"

"Alfred?"

"Alfred Jones. It's Arthur, Arthur Kirkland."

"Please hold." There was a moment of silence before the person came back online, sounding slightly panicked. "I am so sorry, sir. I didn't realize–"

"It's quite alright," Arthur said impatiently.

"Mr. Jones is . . . not here right now. May I take a message?"

"Er, no, thanks," said Arthur. "Can you tell me when he'll be back?"

"I'm . . . not at liberty to say, sir."

Arthur's frown deepened. "Very well. I'll call again another time. Thank you. Goodbye." He hung up and glanced at the clock. He really should be prepping for the meeting he had in half an hour. _What can Alfred possibly be doing that's so secret? _He sighed and picked his pen back up. _This day is not turning out to be a very nice one, _he thought as he began to scribble notes in the margins of the proposal. _That prat had better have a good excuse. _

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><p>It took seven hours and four minutes to fly from Washington, DC, to London's Heathrow airport. It would have taken even less time if Alfred had agreed to take Air Force One, but as he kept having to explain, this was practically a vacation, not a business trip. When Alfred saw London come into view through the tiny window, he couldn't help smiling. The lady sitting next to him noticed. "Visiting family?" she asked kindly.<p>

"Something like that," he replied.

Alfred had specifically asked for a hotel that "normal people stay at," waving away the aide's recommendations for hotels that cost small fortunes for a night. He wasn't disappointed it. It was as cramped as he had been expecting, but for once, he didn't mind. With a total disregard for what time it was (4 o'clock in the afternoon) and the effect it was going to have on him, he went straight up to his room and fell asleep on the neatly made bed.

He woke up in the middle of the night, wide awake. He turned on the light and took out his phone, checking to see if the President had left him any messages. He hadn't. He turned it off again and pulled out some paperwork. Usually he hated all the forms and writing, but here in the middle of the night, so separated from the stress of his everyday life, it didn't seem bad at all. He worked on it for few hours, and then fell asleep again.

When he woke up, it was before seven in the morning. He took a shower, pulled on something casual, and went downstairs for breakfast. It was served in a small, comfortable room with patterned wallpaper. As he ate, he watched the other guests curiously. Only a few others were there – an old man, a couple, and a middle-aged woman who appeared to be on business. None of them so much as glanced at him, so he found a newspaper and scanned it for any news. A headline caught his eye: "UK Unemployment Rises." _Arthur's recovering even more slowly than I am, _he thought, and felt a slight stab of guilt. He tried to ignore it. He finished up his food and left his room key with the woman at the front desk. He left through the front door, turned left on the sidewalk, and just started walking.

It had been a long time since he had been up this early. The London fog filled the streets and muffled all sounds. Alfred took a deep breath, trying to find something in the air and not even sure of what it was. He closed his eyes, and suddenly there he was – Arthur, a sharp scent almost beyond detection. _This is what Arthur sees when he wakes up every morning, _Alfred thought, opening his eyes again. _This is what it feels like._ There was the sidewalk under his feet; there were the cobblestones as he crossed a side street. It was chilly, but Alfred didn't want to go back to the hotel. He hunched his shoulders and put his hands in his pockets. He idly examined the other people he passed. They didn't seem like Arthur at all, on the surface. None of them had his nose, or his hair, or walked like he did. But it still felt like there was a little bit of Arthur in every one of them – or perhaps, every one of them had lent a little piece to Arthur.

After a while, the stores began to open. On a whim, he entered a clothing store and bought himself a dark green cabled sweater. He took off the tags and pulled the soft fabric over his white t-shirt. The heavy fabric and the texture were new to him. He idly rolled the cuff of a sleeve between his fingers as he walked. It seemed like something Arthur would wear, which was mostly why he had bought it. _Perhaps I don't look so much like a stupid American now, _he thought with a wry smile.

He bought himself a map and looked for Buckingham Palace. It wasn't too far, so he folded up the map, stuck it in his jeans' pocket, and set out. The fog was beginning to clear, revealing a blue sky dotted with clouds. Along the way he stopped at a fast food kiosk and bought some fish and chips. He ate it as he walked, licking the grease off his fingers. The scent brought back memories, and the taste was almost as good as he remembered. He dumped the paper plate that it had come with into a trashcan and walked to Arthur's house.

Arthur's house was not part of Buckingham Palace, exactly, but it was very close to it. One of the advantages of the arrangement was that the guards of the palace looked out for Arthur as well, so there was hardly any extra security. Alfred walked right up the front door and rang the doorbell. A servant answered, a middle-aged man in a black suit. Alfred smiled softly, thinking how little things had changed. "Is Arthur here?"

The servant looked a little taken aback. "Mr. Kirkland is out at the moment, Mr. . . . ?"

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"I'm sorry, sir, do you have an appointment?"

"No. He's an old friend."

This gave the servant pause. "Well, if you'd be willing to wait, I could see if he has returned. . . ."

Alfred smiled again, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "No worries. If he doesn't want to be disturbed, I won't bother him."

"Wait, sir," the servant called as Alfred turned to leave. "Aren't you going to leave a name?"

Alfred paused and looked over his shoulder, still smiling slightly. "No. I'll try again later." He walked back down the walkway, turned the corner, and was gone.

* * *

><p>When Alfred returned, it was late afternoon. He had spent the day seeing the sights and wandering the streets. The sun had come out and he was back to his joyful self. When the servant opened the door again, Alfred grinned. "Hello, me again."<p>

"Sir, please come inside," the man said immediately, and held the door open.

"What's with the change of attitude all of a sudden?" asked Alfred as he entered the building. "Artie find out I was here?"

"Er, yes, he did," said the servant with an embarrassed look.

"Who's here?" called Arthur's voice in the distance. "Did Alfred come back?" There was the sound of footsteps and the door to the inner house swung open. Their eyes met. Arthur looked surprised, as if he hadn't really expected it to be Alfred. "Oh, hello," he said.

"Hey." Alfred stood with his hands in his pockets, relaxed. His face had softened when he saw Arthur, and he was smiling. He watched Arthur calmly.

Arthur noted the sweater and blinked in surprise. "What are you wearing?" he asked, unable to help himself. "Oh, never mind," he added hurriedly. "Come in, come in." He stepped aside and ushered Alfred through the doorway. Alfred walked into the sitting room and looked around. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." Alfred sat down on the couch and Arthur took an armchair.

"Get us some tea, will you?" he said to the man nearby. "And some coffee for . . . Mr. Jones." The man nodded and disappeared. Arthur turned his attention back to Alfred, confusion and concern in his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

Alfred laughed. "No, nothing's wrong. I just happened to be in the area and I thought I'd drop by."

Arthur eyed him, clearly not buying it. "Ah, I see. What brings you to this side of the world, then?"

"It's really not the other side of the world anymore." Alfred propped his elbow up on the armrest and rested his chin on his fist. "Do you realize that it only took me seven hours to get here? It's not like it used to be." Alfred grinned.

Arthur felt a pang in his chest. _Yes, it most certainly is not like it used to be. _"I _have_ visited your country since the invention of the airplane, you dolt," he replied, though there was no irritation in his voice. "How far is it, again?"

"3000 miles," Alfred replied easily.

"About 5000 kilometers. Right. I always forget. It is rather far."

Alfred's blue eyes met Arthur's green ones for a moment, utterly serious. Then he turned his gaze towards the wall and shrugged. "I guess."

The tea and coffee came. Arthur reached immediately for his cup of tea, but Alfred didn't touch his coffee. He flipped onto his back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. "You never answered my question," Arthur said dryly, ignoring Alfred's breach of etiquette.

"Eh, it's not much of an answer," said Alfred. He picked up a pillow and began to toss it up and down over his stomach. "I'm just doing research on how Europe's faring. You know, what with the recession and everything."

"Right, 'the recession and everything,'" said Arthur, teetering on sarcasm. _Typical Alfred, thinking it's not a big deal. _

"Yes. That."

"How are you feeling?" asked Arthur, trying to sound casual. He'd seen the reports, but he often found that they meant nothing.

"Better," said Alfred, not faltering in his throwing of the pillow. He caught it, and set it down on his stomach. He turned his head to look at Arthur with a wry smile. "Like crap, really."

"I'm sorry to hear it," said Arthur with more feeling than he had intended.

Alfred turned his gaze back to to the ceiling. "Nah, it's not really that bad. I'm just glad to get away from it for a while."

Arthur had to smile. "This isn't exactly the place to come for that. I'm up to my knees in paperwork."

Alfred shrugged. "At least it's not home."

_No, not anymore. _There was an awkward silence. "So, how long are you going to be staying here?" Arthur asked finally.

"Eh, a week or something. I'll see how it goes."

"Do you have a hotel here, or are you staying at Francis's?" Arthur was honestly curious. He somehow doubted that Alfred was really taking an interest in the European countries after all these years of being oblivious, but it was possible. If he really was telling the truth, staying on the mainland would make the most sense.

"I've got a hotel here. Can I crash here tomorrow night, though?"

"Sure. You can even 'crash' here tonight, if you like." Arthur tried to sound as if he didn't care one way or another.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," said Alfred, not really meaning it.

"You wouldn't be. You're always welcome here."

"Okay, then. That would be nice." Alfred flashed Arthur a smile, almost his usual self, and Arthur wondered if he had been imagining things. He noted that Alfred's expression quickly reverted to the unusually thoughtful one he had been wearing moments before, though, and he frowned.

"Are you . . . really okay?"

"Yup." Alfred sat up and smoothed his hair down with one hand. He reached for the cup of coffee and sipped it. He sat up straighter and met Arthur's eyes. "Oh, right, I was wondering. Where's the nearest Micky D's? I didn't see one on my way up here."

"I am not the person to ask," Arthur replied dryly. "I'm sure some of my citizens would be perfectly willing to help you."

"Nah, I'll just look it up on the internet or something."

"Would you like to stay for supper?"

"Yeah, sure. That would be cool."

"Excellent." Arthur put down his teacup. "Well, as much as I hate to say it, I'm afraid I have some paperwork to finish up. You're welcome to explore the city or stay here, if you like." Arthur stood up and Alfred followed suit. "I'll be in my office if you need anything. Supper will be served at 7 pm sharp."

Alfred grinned. "Yeah, I know. You haven't changed at all. I think I'll go back to the hotel and check out and stuff, but I'll be back soon."

Arthur nodded. "Sounds good. I will see you in a while."

"Yup. Bye."

Arthur remained in the sitting room while Alfred left. He heard Alfred saying something joking to the doorman, then the sound of his footsteps fading and the slam of the door. Arthur sighed and began to walk towards his office.

"Would you like me to bring you some tea?" asked a servant.

Arthur paused. "Yes, please. The Darjeeling, if you don't mind."

"Of course, sir," replied the servant, and bowed back into the kitchen.

"Oh Alfred," murmured Arthur with a sigh as he walked up the worn stairs, "Why is it you always come back to me at the most inconvenient times?"

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><p>Alfred took a taxi back to the hotel. He went upstairs to his room and packed his bags. He wondered if he should call the President to check on things, but when he flipped open his phone he realized it was after midnight in the States. <em>This distance makes things so inconvenient, <em>he thought, and snapped the phone shut. "Inconvenient;" that wasn't what he meant. What did he mean? He fell backwards onto the bed with a sigh. "Arthur," he said aloud. He pressed the cool metal of the phone to his forehead and closed his eyes. When he was home, he felt like they were too far away from one another, but now that he was here, it hardly felt as if the distance had become any less. "Complicated?" Maybe that was what he meant. "Painful," he said to the ceiling. Yes, that too. He sat up and ran his hand through his hair. "Annoying," he said. He began throwing his belongings haphazardly back into his suitcase. _It's not as if you can do anything about it, anyway, _he thought, moping just a little. He zipped up his suitcase and gave his room a once-over. Seeing nothing, he opened the door and pulled the suitcase along after him.

_What brings you to this side of the world, then?_

_(It's simple. I miss you.)_

(It wasn't past tense. It hadn't been past tense for over 200 years.)

He checked out of the hotel and took a taxi back to Arthur's. A servant showed him to the guest room and left him to get settled in. It was decorated mostly in pastel greens, with pink accents and white lace curtains. A mahogany chest of drawers was centered on one wall. Alfred smiled a little; Arthur always did like decorating. He unpacked his things and walked into the hall. The door to his old room caught his eye and he paused. He quietly turned the knob and the door swung open.

The room looked different than he remembered. It didn't have anything of his in it, of course – he was sure Arthur had thrown out whatever he hadn't taken with him when he left for good. The furniture hadn't been moved, but the cover on the bed and the curtains matched those in the guest room. It had also been repainted.

Arthur must have heard his footsteps, because a door opened and he poked his head out. "Alfred?"

Alfred turned around with a smile. "Hey. How's it going?"

"Fine. I'll be done in a few minutes. Did William show you to your room?" He saw the door that Alfred was standing in front of. "Oh. I didn't even think about it. If you want your old room, it's yours."

Alfred laughed. "No, I'm done with it. I like the guest room." He looked back into the bedroom. "You redecorated."

Arthur stepped out of his office and walked over to Alfred. "Yes. It got pretty old-fashioned after a while." There was a moment of silence.

"Do you still have that collection of Sherlock Holmes stories?"

"Of course. It's downstairs in the black bookshelf."

"Cool. Mind if I borrow it?"

"Go ahead." Arthur watched Alfred's back retreat down the stairs. Arthur walked back into his office and closed the door. He was frowning. Whether Alfred wanted to admit it or not, something was bothering Alfred Jones.

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><p>Alfred was sitting on the couch, reading Sherlock Holmes, when Arthur came downstairs. "Well," said Arthur with a tired smile, "I think it's finally almost suppertime."<p>

Alfred smiled in response and obediently closed the book. "What's for dinner?"

"I have no idea," Arthur said, and Alfred chuckled.

"Just like you."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in a mock threat. "Would you rather I be cooking?"

"Haha, no way!" said Alfred, grinning. Arthur threw a pillow at him. "Hey!" said Alfred as he ducked and it clipped his shoulder.

"Serves you right," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "You don't know how to treat your superiors." Alfred just grinned in response.

"Supper is served," came a voice from another room.

Alfred and Arthur both went into the dining room. Dinner turned out to be roast beef, potatoes, and peas. They talked their way through dinner, Alfred occasionally breaking out into laughter. Arthur found himself smiling and relaxing. Some part of him was almost fooled into thinking that the Alfred sitting across from him was a child, not a man – but then Alfred would reach self-assuredly for his water glass or deftly cut a slice of beef, and Arthur would be reminded quite strongly that Alfred was at least his equal – perhaps more than that.

After dinner, Arthur claimed that he still had work to do and retreated to his study while Alfred headed to his room. Alfred read for a while and then turned out the light, but he continued to lie awake for a long time afterward. Thoughts kept tumbling through his head, and it took a long time to straighten them out into a neat line. Eventually, though, his thoughts slowed and lost their meaning. He slowly drifted off to sleep, his nose buried in the pillow and his senses filled with the scent of Arthur.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: _I forgot to mention that because of when I was writing this, it may take place a little closer to the worst of the Great Recession/Financial Crisis etc. than the present. If Alfred's boss is only just now asking him to do damage control, he's a liiiiittle bit late (though then again, that might be exactly like them . . .). Sorry, short chapter.

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><p><em>Chapter 2<em>

Alfred slept in until 12:30 in the afternoon. Arthur was sitting primly on the couch reading a newspaper when Alfred appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm starving!" he said, smiling happily at Arthur. "What's for breakfast?"

"Bacon and eggs _were _for breakfast. It's past twelve."

"Yeah, sorry, your time change is messing me up."

"It's more your time change than it is mine," Arthur said crisply. "We're on Greenwich Mean Time here." Arthur decided not to mention that they actually weren't because it was summer, but he figured Alfred wouldn't think of that. Besides, an hour off hardly made any difference. Alfred still didn't have the right to be so dismissive about it.

Alfred ignored Arthur's bad mood and disappeared into the kitchen, whistling a cheerful tune. Arthur reluctantly followed him. He gave a half-hearted glare to the servant who was placing a heaping plate of bacon and eggs in front of Alfred. Luckily the servant didn't notice. Arthur sat down across from Alfred, finding it more difficult to be angry at Alfred than he had expected. With a slight sigh, he gave up and asked the servant for a small helping for himself.

"So, how have you been?" Alfred asked around a mouthful of food. "You never really said."

Arthur hesitated. He wasn't sure how disconnected Alfred was from what was going on in the rest of the world. "I'm . . . alright," he said carefully. "It is hard, though, trying to help some of the others who . . . aren't doing quite so well."

"I heard Greece went under."

"Yeah." Arthur looked at his plate as he took a bite.

"That's too bad."

"Yeah."

"What about the others?"

Arthur looked up and saw that Alfred's expression of concern. He put his fork down. "Most of them aren't doing well."

"Ah. That sucks." Alfred said it with feeling.

"Yes, it really does."

There was a moment of silence. Alfred looked out the window and chewed thoughtfully. "Hey, it's supposed to be summer here, right?"

"Yes," Arthur said dryly at Alfred's ability to switch topics without being apologetic in the slightest.

"Is it ever going to get sunny?"

"It will eventually," Arthur said dismissively. "If there's one thing to be said about my weather, it's that it gives you variety."

"Yeah," Alfred said, looking dubiously at the darkening clouds. "Man, this city must be empty. I bet everyone's on vacation."

"Alfred!" Arthur squawked and threw a buttered biscuit at him, which Alfred dodged. "I'll have you know my people like it here just as much as yours like the US!"

Alfred snorted. "Not _all _parts of the US. Have you ever been to Miami? People in the US go _to another part of the US _because I am _awesome_. I'm willing to bet we've got tons of your tourists."

Arthur huffed. "Perhaps my people have time to vacation, but I do not."

"Perhaps you should." Alfred grinned and sat up straighter. "You could come visit me! I've got tons of gorgeous beaches."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he secretly felt please that Alfred wanted him to visit. "I have plenty of the ocean here, thank you."

"Yeah, whatever. The offer still stands." Alfred returned to his food in characteristic Alfred fashion. Arthur smiled a little and sipped at his third cup of tea that day. He would never take Alfred up on it, of course – but it was the thought that counted.

* * *

><p>Arthur still had work to do, so he disappeared into his study and asked Alfred not to disturb him. He wasn't expecting Alfred to really respect his wishes, but for the most part, he did. Arthur did not see Alfred (though he could hear him) for at least an hour, and when Alfred opened his door (without knocking, of course), it was only to ask where he kept his TV since he couldn't find it. (This, of course, was because Alfred was an idiot, since he had assumed that Arthur had a flat-screen television. His telly, though small, was perfectly serviceable.) Even so, Arthur felt strange with Alfred in the house, as though something he couldn't quite place was nagging at him.<p>

By dinner that night, Arthur realized that he didn't really know what to do with Alfred.

He was fairly certain that as a host, it was supposed to be somewhat his responsibility to keep Alfred entertained. However, Alfred seemed to resist all Arthur's attempts at doing so. Arthur had work to do, of course, but Alfred didn't, and Alfred didn't even seem to have much interest in leaving the house. When Arthur suggested that he go outside, he explained that he'd already done enough "tourist-y" things by himself, and that he would wait until Arthur had a break from work before going outside again. Arthur explained that Alfred would have to wait a long time in that case, but Alfred didn't seem to mind. He seemed perfectly content to simply sit around and read, or talk to the household staff, or play with his cat. Alfred didn't necessarily do these things as quietly as Arthur would have liked, but at least Alfred wasn't complaining or actively annoying him. It was too good to be true. Surely after another day or two of this Alfred was going to start bouncing off the walls.

Clearly, Arthur had a responsibility to _do _something with Alfred, even if it was just to keep his sanity intact for the days to follow.

Arthur was unusually quiet through dinner, his brows furrowed in thought, as he tried to find something for them to do together that would be as neutral as possible. Alfred prattled about the weather and the book he had read and didn't seem to notice. Alfred was in the middle of talking about his newest idea about how to save the environment when Arthur cleared his throat. "Er, yeah?" said Alfred, a little surprised.

"I was thinking," Arthur said, paying no heed to the fact that he had just interrupted Alfred, "That we should do something. I think . . . after dinner I will take some time off work."

Alfred looked at him curiously and then broke into a grin. "Whoa, Artie, don't hurt yourself there. That's a pretty dangerous idea."

Arthur turned pink and huffed. "I'm not going to _do _anything. I was thinking that you and I could . . . well, I don't know, do relaxing things together." Arthur was flushing a darker color than he would have liked. He had a strong desire to cover his face with his hands and groan. Was it so hard to suggest that he and Alfred simply spend time together?

Alfred laughed at him (oh yes, it was very much at him, Arthur knew) and then grinned. "Whatever you want. That's all I've been doing all day, anyway."

"Fine." Arthur cleared his throat self-consciously and stood. "Well, I'm going to start on the dishes, then."

"Righteo." Alfred enthusiastically reached for a second helping without bothering to look up at Arthur at all.

* * *

><p>Sometime later, Alfred finished dinner and joined Arthur in the sitting room. Arthur was starting to wonder if he was going to regret attempting to relax with Alfred. He was pretty sure that past experimentation had provided pretty solid evidence that "Alfred" and "relaxing" were exclusive.<p>

"What are you going to do, when you do this strange thing called 'relaxing'?" Alfred asked. "Sew?" There was definitely a certain amount of derision and fear in that one word that made Arthur turn pink with embarrassment.

He huffed. "Nonsense," he said, though that had been exactly what he had been planning on doing. "I'm going to read."

Alfred looked relieved. "Cool. Me too. I'm getting really sick of your TV."

Arthur bristled but let it slide. He stalked back upstairs, grabbed the book he was currently working his way through, and returned to the sitting room, where Alfred hadn't budged. Arthur opened his book to his place and started reading.

He heard Alfred clearing his throat and moving about in the armchair across from Arthur. There was a rustle as he turned a page, the sound of him putting one leg over the other and then deciding it should really be the other way around, and then deciding he had had it right the first time, and a slight cough. It wasn't until Alfred finally settled down that Arthur was able to get past the first paragraph. Then, unfortunately, he started thinking.

So Alfred was staying with him. He made a little clucking noise with his tongue. It was an inconvenience, really, but he seemed to keep forgetting about that part. It was so easy to have Alfred around. It wasn't as if it was really anything new; Alfred "crashed" at his place every time Arthur hosted anything. However, he _was _unused to Alfred simply lazing about for no apparent reason. It was almost as if Alfred _wanted _to be here, which was nearly too strange to contemplate. He frowned a little and clucked his tongue again; _"Tsk."_ Not to say he minded; oh no. He loved having Alfred, around actually – which was half the problem. He would have happily abandoned all his work to just spend time with Alfred. If Alfred _wanted _to spend time with him . . . Well, there simply had to be another explanation. It obviously wasn't the reason Alfred had given him (as much as it was like Alfred to procrastinate on work) because if it were, Alfred would have given _some _indication that he wasn't just there to . . . well, just _be _there. Clearly, Arthur was missing something. _"Tsk."_ Alfred always had caused him problems.

Alfred cleared his throat noticeably. Arthur glanced up. Alfred was giving him a pointed look. "That book pissing you off?"

"Pardon?"

"You keep . . . '_tsk_-ing' at it."

Arthur stared at him for a moment before he realized that Alfred was right. He blushed and cleared his throat hastily. "Oh, yes. Sorry. I'll stop."

"Uh, okay." Alfred gave him one last wary look and returned to his own book.

Maybe Alfred really was just being his usual irritating self. After all, today he had been acting normal . . . for the most part. As much as Arthur hated to admit it (he should be grateful for the peace and quiet, after all), it worried him that Alfred hadn't been annoying all day. Alfred was annoying when he was energetic, and if he wasn't energetic then something was seriously wrong. Arthur frowned. The day before, Alfred had been even calmer. Something was wrong, and Arthur had no idea what it was. _"Tsk." _

Alfred slammed his book shut, making Arthur jump. "_Arthur._"

Arthur scowled at him. "Yes."

"You're doing it again." Alfred pointed at him. "You're frowning and doing your little _'tsk' _thing, and it's not like I was paying attention or anything, but I don't think you've turned the page for the last ten minutes."

"And how fast should I be turning the page?" Arthur snapped. He hated being caught like that.

"Well, you usually read two pages of a hardcover like that in under two minutes, tops–" Alfred stopped talking, but his eyes were wide and his mouth was still open like a fish. He abruptly closed it and looked wildly around the room. Arthur wasn't sure who was more stunned – him, that Alfred actually paid attention to such a minute detail, or Alfred, that he had actually said that. There was a moment of awkward silence.

Arthur cleared his throat and turned back to his book to hide the slight blush on his cheeks. "Well. I think I will get back to reading, then."

"Er, yeah," Alfred said, blushing slightly, and hunched over his own book.

Oh, this was going to be a long – however long it was going to be.

* * *

><p>Arthur was beginning to accept that Alfred would be on his late sleeping schedule for the remainder of his stay, so when he woke up the next morning he didn't even bother to wait around downstairs. He took tea and a scone in his study and worked. When he came downstairs at about 10, he was surprised to find Alfred already up. Alfred heard his footsteps on the stairs and looked over his shoulder from the couch, where he appeared to be reading. He grinned. "Hey."<p>

"Good morning," Arthur said warily. "I already had breakfast, if you were waiting for me."

"I know," Alfred said cheerfully. "They told me. I had breakfast a while ago too."

"Alright," Arthur said. "I'll be in my study if you need me." He disappeared into the kitchen to get another cup of tea. When he came out, Alfred appeared to be intent on his book. Arthur sighed and decided it wasn't worth worrying about. If Alfred found some unexpected way to bother him, he would discover what it was soon enough. Until then, he would have some peace and quiet.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Alfred burst into Arthur's study. Arthur looked up, a frown still fixed on his face. Alfred was grinning. "What are you still doing up here? It's lunchtime! The guys downstairs have made some really cool-looking sandwiches for us and they're all set out on silver platters and stuff. They even rang a little bell to let you know it was lunchtime."<p>

Arthur's frown, which had been starting to lift, quickly returned to his face. "Yes, I know, I heard them. I'll come downstairs when I've finished with this report."

Alfred put a hand on Arthur's desk and leaned down to look him in the eyes. "Come on, it's time for a break. You've been working away for hours. Besides, I'm _starving._"

"And which of those is more important?" Arthur muttered, but he set down his pen and stood up. Alfred strode happily out of the door and waited for him in the hall.

"Hey, I wanna go to the beach tomorrow. Do you have any important meetings you can't cancel?" asked Alfred over his shoulder as he led the way down the stairs.

Arthur's eyebrows raised in surprise and he blinked. "Er, I don't think so."

"Awesome. I'm gonna kidnap you at like, noon tomorrow, okay?"

Arthur barely suppressed a smile. "It's hardly kidnapping me if you let me know beforehand."

Alfred grinned. "It still counts. I figure we can leave in the early afternoon. We'll have to bring folding chairs and stuff. You have some, right?" Alfred looked over his shoulder again and Arthur gave him a blank look. _Chairs? Whatever for? _"You know, lounge chairs to watch the ocean from."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to be sitting on the beach? It's not exactly warm out."

"Come on, it's summer! Anyway, it's supposed to be sunny, maybe, so that's good enough. Do you know of a beach near here we can go to?"

"Yes, I suppose. I can drive us there in a little over an hour."

"Sounds good."

Arthur felt his heart swell, just a little, at how happy Alfred looked right then. "The beach. I haven't been there in a long time."

* * *

><p>Routine. Arthur had almost forgotten what it was like. Alfred made it so easy to fall back into – though, was it really back? Arthur could hardly remember how they had done things back then. (A lie – he could remember it down to every detail if he thought about it.) Had they always had such relaxed dinners? He knew that meals together had been a necessity. Alfred had even joined him for teatime, sometimes –<p>

Arthur cut his thoughts off before they could go too much further. That was too long ago. This dinner was now, and this was how their relationship was, and this was what Alfred was like. Everything else didn't matter. If he forgot about it, like they pretended to, all that history didn't matter.

3000 miles. He could remember when it had taken months to sail that distance, and how he had done it every time for love – even at the last, when he knew Alfred would not be waiting for him with open arms, but with a musket and a bayonet.

They talked over dinner about all kinds of things, with the kind of easy conversation that flowed when they were both in a good mood. It was as though they had both forgotten that their history had ever happened, or that they had ever fought, or that their hearts had ever been damaged. The funny thing was, they had to put so much work into pretending they had forgotten, they had to remember every second of every day they were near each other, lest they slip and say the wrong thing.

They said their "goodnight"s with smiles. Neither of them slept well that night.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: _Since the Iraq War wasn't over all the way back in, say, 2010, this means that when they refer to the "the war" they could be discussing the Iraq or Afghanistan War (or both).

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><p><em>Chapter 3<em>

The sea is different. It is not part of them, not really; their technical boundaries extend into its waters, but the ebb and flow confuses things and makes boundaries indistinct. Even at his height, Arthur thought of the sea as something wild which he had tamed, not truly a part of him. The salt the wind brings, the spray of the waters; those are his. But the ocean that stretches between him and Alfred – that is different. That is something neither of them can control, and so though Arthur wishes he knew the exact distance between their two closest shores, he does not. Instruments and maps can tell him, but he does not _know. _That distance is not a part of him, nor of them. It something neither of them can control.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Arthur managed to get a bit of work in before Alfred woke up. As soon as he heard Alfred's footsteps in his room next door, he hastily finished up what he was doing. By the time Alfred came downstairs, Arthur was already waiting patiently at the dining room table. A full breakfast had been set out, and upon seeing it – and, perhaps, upon seeing Arthur – Alfred's face lit up.<p>

"Sorry I slept in again," said Alfred, pulling out a chair. "You really should have eaten without me."

"It's quite alright," said Arthur, though he tried to glance subtly at his watch. "We should leave in about an hour, though."

"Okay." Alfred was already half done with his food, and as if on cue, one of the staff appeared with a platter for seconds. "Mm, awesome," he mumbled, heaping more food onto his plate. Arthur watched, slightly in awe, as he ate it all.

"I would have thought you would eat less when you stopped growing," he said dryly.

Alfred shrugged. "I'm still growing, kinda. Population, you know."

"Right." They ate in silence for a while. Arthur finished and Alfred went for thirds. Arthur watched as Alfred ate the last bite of breakfast, gulped the glass of milk that had been set in front of him, and stretched with a sigh. _He really has grown so much, _Arthur thought, watching the languid movement. _Perhaps more than he even realizes. _Arthur felt a slight pang of regret. _If only I had recognized the possibility sooner. _

"Mm, that was yummy." Alfred flashed a grin at Arthur, who hastily averted his eyes. "Should we start getting ready?"

"Might as well. I'll go see about the chairs." Arthur stood abruptly and left. He mentioned the chairs to a servant and went out to the garage to see about the car. He ran a hand gently along its side. Yes, it would do quite nicely; it was still in perfect condition.

* * *

><p>When Alfred came back downstairs some time later, he was wearing his familiar leather jacket over a t-shirt and jeans. Arthur was standing idly in the sitting room, hands in his pockets. They should have made a sharp contrast to each other, what with Arthur in his slacks and sweater-vest, but somehow it suited them both. Arthur looked up. "Everything's ready. I pulled the car out front."<p>

"Excellent."

When Arthur led him outside, his eyes lit up. "The Rolls-Royce! She's still a beauty." He ran a hand loving along the top of the passenger-side door.

"Yes, she is," Arthur said smugly, and slid into the driver's seat. Alfred slid in beside him and looked over the dashboard with excitement. Arthur backed out of the driveway and pulled onto the street. The top was down, and the cool air blew in their faces. "Do you want me to put the top up?" Arthur asked.

"No," replied Alfred. He was smiling.

They drove in comfortable silence for a long time. The landscape slowly changed from dense buildings to rolling hills, green from recent rain. Alfred gazed out at the landscape, his hair blowing in the wind, his arm resting on the edge of the car. Arthur glanced at him whenever he could. He looked so relaxed and so happy. It left Arthur breathless.

They reached the beach in a little over an hour, just as Arthur had said they would. They got out of the car walked down to the boardwalk. "Let's just walk for a bit," said Alfred. Arthur nodded. He eyed the quiet beach, noting the other people who were there. He wondered why anyone would be at the beach on a day like this, but then the sun came out from behind a cloud. It immediately warmed his skin, and he smiled. He could not begrudge his citizens for wanting to enjoy the sunshine, especially after it had snowed and rained for so long.

"Popsicle?" asked Alfred, his eyes lighting up when he spotted the popsicle stand.

"Really?" Arthur asked dryly as the breeze ruffled his hair. "The sun may be out, but it's hardly warm."

"It's never too cold for popsicles," replied Alfred, and promptly dug into his pocket for change. Arthur watched, slightly amused, as Alfred spread out a combination of American and English coins on the tiny counter of the confused sweets seller. Alfred began sorting them into two piles. When he was finished, he shoved the pile of English currency towards the surprised man and smiled brightly. "Two rainbow popsicles, please." The man obligingly counted out the proper amount, pushed the rest of the coins towards Alfred, and disappeared behind the counter.

"I'm surprised you bothered to exchange any of your currency," Arthur drawled.

Alfred grinned. "Oh, no, I didn't. I paid for that shirt yesterday with my money, and they were kind enough to give me change. They probably ripped me off, but it doesn't really matter." He took the two popsicles and and handed one to Arthur, who took it without even thinking about it.

Arthur snorted. "Sometimes I can't tell if you're incredibly lazy or just way too proud of your currency."

Alfred laughed. "Probably a combination of both, as if you can talk. Do you remember the time that Francis complained about your refusal to switch over to the Euro, and how you drive on the left side of the road?"

"There's nothing wrong with that, and besides, at least my measurement system makes sense," Arthur retorted. "Inches and feet? Really? And I can never remember what temperature you think water freezes at."

"I got that from you, you know. And it's 32 degrees."

"See? Completely arbitrary."

"Yeah, it is a little bit silly." Alfred grinned.

"I guess we're both just a little stuck in our ways."

"Yeah." He finished off his popsicle and tossed the wrapper in a trash can. They walked in companionable silence for a while longer until Arthur finished his off, too. They paused at a turn in the path that led to a sheltered, sunny spot with a beautiful view of the sea. "This looks like a nice place. I'm going to go back to the car to get the chairs," said Alfred. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Alright." Arthur gazed out to sea and heard Alfred's footsteps recede. _Alfred. Why did you bring me here? _

Alfred returned in a few minutes, the chairs slung over his shoulder. They set them up down by the water and lay down. Alfred stretched into his full length and put his hands behind his head. Clouds passed in front of the sun and then revealed it again, giving the whole setting a dreamlike quality. The breeze picked up again and Arthur shivered. "Alfred, this is silly."

"Close your eyes," said Alfred, his gaze not moving from its place on the sky above them. "Just pretend we're about to go swimming."

"Alfred, it's freezing in the ocean," Arthur said dryly.

"Yeah, okay, okay," said Alfred, smiling. "Pretend we've just gone swimming in the ocean and we're warming up in the sun."

"Still not a very pleasant thought," said Arthur, but he closed his eyes anyway. Another cloud passed in front of the sun and he shivered, but it quickly passed. The breeze stilled and he felt the sun warming his eyelids, his hands, and his face. Perhaps he wasn't wearing a jacket at all; perhaps the warmth on his chest was the sun directly on his skin. His thoughts strayed to Alfred and how he would look, lying in his swimming trunks in the sun. He didn't really know, of course, but he had some idea . . . The sun was so warm, he thought he might fall asleep, and would that be such a bad thing? He lost sense of what time it was.

Lips brushed his forehead, then his cheek, then his lips. Arthur almost gasped at the poignant feeling it evoked in him. He opened his eyes. Alfred was sitting now, but he didn't look as though he had moved. His face was turned away, and there was something in his posture that spoke of disappointment and sorrow. "Alfred," said Arthur, and he tried to sit up. Somewhere far away a child screeched joyfully, and Arthur woke up.

He opened his eyes. Alfred was sitting on his chair, facing the ocean. He put a hand over his eyes, blocking out the sunlight, still feeling the sorrow he had felt in the dream. When he removed it, Alfred was looking at him, smiling slightly. "Awake?"

Arthur sat up with a slight struggle. "Yes. I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep. Sorry."

"It was fine. What were you dreaming about?"

Arthur looked at him. "How could you tell I was dreaming?"

"You were talking in your sleep." Alfred's smile seemed sad.

"What did I say?"

"Just my name."

"Oh." Arthur looked away. "I don't remember."

Alfred didn't mention that had when Arthur had uttered that single word, he had sounded utterly, completely heartbroken.

They talked little on the way back to the car. It was later than Arthur had realized; he must have truly fallen asleep at some point. Alfred packed the chairs into the back of the car and sat down in the passenger seat. He pulled the door closed with a harsh slam. Arthur turned on the car and pulled out onto the narrow country road. They hit traffic when they reached the outskirts of London, and by the time they reached the city proper it was growing dark. "I'm starving," said Alfred, looking at Arthur for the first time since they had left the beach. "Do you have any ice cream at your place?"

"No, I don't, actually."

"Can we stop by a grocery store and grab some?"

"Sure," said Arthur. He pulled into the next grocery store they saw. There were only a few other people there, and the harsh lighting made Arthur feel out of sorts. Alfred made a beeline for the frozen desserts aisle and quickly picked out a container of ice cream that was a mess of chocolate and marshmallows and carmel. Arthur accepted this without the slightest amount of protest, too tired to say anything. He picked out some mint chip ice cream for himself and they headed to the checkout counter.

They each put their choices on the counter and Alfred pulled out his credit card. Arthur almost offered to pay in order to save Alfred from whatever horrible exchange rate his bank was going to give him, but he didn't have any cash on him either and Alfred didn't seem to mind. The clerk offered to bag their purchases but Arthur told him not to bother. He picked up both of the containers, cradling them awkwardly in his arms. When Alfred saw this, he smiled slightly and put a gentle hand on Arthur's elbow. "I'll take mine," Alfred said softly, and retrieved it from Arthur's hold. Arthur caught the look on the clerk's face and blushed – and judging from the mischievous smile on Alfred's face, he had caught it too. When they exited into the cool night air, Alfred let out a chuckle. "Did you see the clerk? He totally thought we were a couple."

"Yes, I did," said Arthur dryly. "That's what you should expect when you take my arm like that."

"Oh, I thought it was the way I offered to take it from you," said Alfred cheerfully, propping the ice cream container up against his shoulder. Arthur found himself blushing again.

"As if that's a good thing, you idiot."

"Oh, I don't know," said Alfred. "Not the worst thing in the world."

"Well, no," said Arthur, utterly confused as to what he was supposed to be inferring from all this. He tossed the container in the back seat and sat down in the car. He started it and pulled back onto the road. "You aren't going to eat the ice cream instead of dinner, are you?" he asked.

Alfred laughed and Arthur's frown deepened. "Don't furrow your fuzzy eyebrows at me, Artie. It still strikes fear into my heart."

"Nothing seems to strike fear into your heart, you big oaf," Arthur grumbled.

"Oh, you know that's not true," Alfred returned lightly. "And no, I'll eat my dinner first, dad." His tone was teasing. Arthur's hold on the steering wheel tightened, and then released. _Let it slide, _he told himself, and he did. Alfred had noticed the reaction, however, and he quieted. "Sorry," he said.

"It doesn't matter," Arthur said. Alfred nodded in response. They pulled into Arthur's house a few minutes later. Arthur had called ahead, and dinner was ready and waiting. Alfred ate with gusto.

The war got brought up briefly. "When are you going back?" Alfred asked. It was never if; it was when.

Arthur looked down at his plate and poked his green beans. "Christmas, I think."

Alfred also looked down at his food. "Yeah. Me too, I think."

Countries could not always be on the front lines in wartime. Their bosses always tried to convince them it was a bad idea, right until they pointed out the whole never-dying bit. Their bosses were right, to a point: their people needed them at home to keep things running, and they became weak if they spent too much time away from their own land. However, their troops needed them too. There was a constant pull, the pull the soldier feels who has fought before but is on leave. The soldier knows that people, his or her comrades, are dying, and that if he was there he could help them.

The countries don't just know – they can feel it.

A long time ago, they had spent as much time on the front as they could. Now, weighed down with ever-increasing responsibilities and paperwork, they had both promised their bosses (Alfred directly, Arthur implicitly) that they wouldn't go out there for longer than six months at a time. At some point, they had figured out how to make the best of it. When the fighting was heaviest, they would go. When it was like it was now, erratic and (hopefully, oh please God) not too heavy, they would go during Christmas. They could usually convince their commanders that they counted for five human soldiers – maybe ten, if they could get away with it. Every soldier they relieved could go home and spend the precious holidays with his or her family. It was the least they could do.

They were quiet for a moment, both poking at their food and lost in thought. They didn't need to say anything because they knew they were both thinking about the same thing. Eventually, though, Alfred stretched and smiled, his eyes lighting up. "How about that ice cream?"

"Sure," said Arthur, wiping his mouth daintily and drawing himself back to reality. "I'll put on a pot of tea and we can eat in the sitting room. Do you want anything?" He rose and Alfred followed him.

"Nah, I'm fine. I'll get the ice cream."

When Arthur entered the sitting room, he found Alfred sitting on the couch with the container of chocolate ice cream and a spoon in front of him. The container of mint ice cream and a spoon had likewise been placed in front of the armchair. When Alfred saw Arthur, he popped off the top of his container and dug in.

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "My goodness, are you really going to eat it like that?"

Alfred grinned. "Well, yeah. Come on Artie, indulge a little." He waved at Arthur's place with his spoon.

Arthur poured himself a cup of tea and took his seat. "Really, I can't eat a whole carton of ice cream. In fact, I'm quite full as it is. I think I'll pass." Alfred waved his spoon in a dismissive gesture, unable to speak around the ice cream. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Anyway, how was your day? Sorry I fell asleep for most of."

Alfred swallowed. " 'Tis fine. It was fine."

"What are you planning to doing tomorrow?"

"Nothing special," he said with a shrug and scooped out another spoonful of ice cream. Arthur frowned and put down his cup of tea with a click. Alfred looked up. "What?" he mumbled, his mouth full.

"Alfred, I'm trying to make conversation here. Either participate or find something you want to talk about."

Alfred hastily swallowed and grinned. "Yes, fuzzy-brows. So tell me, how's the old economy doing?"

"Just fine."

There was a long moment of silence and Arthur realized that there was absolutely nothing he wanted to talk to Alfred about right now – or at least, nothing that they _could _talk about. Arthur found himself thinking of that dream on the beach. What if Alfred really had kissed him? Arthur briefly closed his eyes. A wave of pain washed over him. This was too much. He wasn't supposed to think about this anymore. The past was the past, and he had lost the only chance he had ever had to make things right again. In those days, he had tortured himself at night by trying to think of exactly where that point of no return had been. He was not about to go back to doing that.

After a while, when they had finished their ice cream, they mumbled their goodnights and went upstairs to bed. Arthur stayed up later than usual. He was getting a head start on the work he was supposed to do the next day, he told himself. It was not because he needed to distract himself, or keep his mind off things. He was being purely efficient. It was past midnight when he finally turned out the light and left his study. As he paused in the hall to close the door behind him, he glanced at the door to Alfred's room. A thin line of light peeked out from underneath the edge of the door. Arthur went into his own room and went to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: _I forgot to ask last chapter: what do you Brits call a place where you buy groceries? The grocery store, the market, the grocer's? Or does it vary by region, like in the US? (At least, I think it varies by region in the US. I say grocery store, but my friend says the market . . . even though we grew up about half an hour away from each other. Maybe we're just weird.) What about other countries/parts of the US? Just curious. :)

Also, re-uploading this chapter because it seemed to be having some issues.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 4<em>

Arthur had planned to spend the next day working, but he could hardly sit still. He knew he needed to meet with his boss, not to mention that there were telephone calls to make, reports to read, but it all just seemed so insignificant right now. He could read fine print whenever he wanted to. Why did he have to do it now?

At lunch, it took only the sight of Alfred's smile for Arthur to give in completely. "I think there's some old stuff of yours in the attic," Arthur said as he carefully unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. "I've been meaning to do a bit of cleaning, but I wouldn't want to accidentally throw anything away that you still wanted. Would you be willing to help me go through it, maybe after we finish eating?"

"Sure," said Alfred brightly. "It sounds like fun."

"I'm glad you think so," said Arthur dryly. He busied himself with eating and willed Alfred not to think about it too much.

"Wait, you still have some of my stuff?"

No such luck. Arthur tried to look as casual as possible as he met Alfred's gaze. Alfred looked surprisingly curious about it, as if Arthur had just confirmed a wild rumor or given Alfred reason to believe that unicorns really might exist (for once). "I hardly ever go up to the attic anymore," he said with a careless flick of his hand. "You know how bad I am about throwing things away."

Alfred grinned as though Arthur had just touched on a private joke. He seemed to think of something and snickered. "Yup. I swear you have a wooden radio in the living room. I mean, people don't even listen to radio that's not on the internet now, right?"

Arthur stared at him in shock. A lecture shortly followed on how ignorant Alfred was, because of _course _people still listened to the radio, and how could he possibly think it didn't exist anymore? (Besides, that particular radio was an antique!) Thankfully, his tirade successfully diverted Alfred's attention from the fact that it was very unlikely that Arthur would have kept Alfred's things unless he had forgiven him surprisingly quickly for something that had happened a very long time ago–or simply could not bring himself to part with even those small pieces of Alfred.

* * *

><p>Arthur's attic was an actual attic, complete with pull-down ladder and bare beams. There were several small windows in the attic, though of course none of them opened. It being summer, and it of course being the one day the weather had decided it wanted to be only partially cloudy and rather hot, Alfred and Arthur were soon sweating. Alfred was wearing his usual t-shirt and jeans, but Arthur was wearing a sweater vest and a pressed white shirt. He rolled up his shirtsleeves but refused to reveal any more skin. "I am not taking off my clothing just because it is a little bit warm," he said sternly to Alfred when he commented that Arthur was probably going to get heatstroke. "I have dealt with much worse. If you have ever been to India–"<p>

While Arthur told a long-winded story that Alfred had heard at least six times before, Alfred began to sift through a box labeled "_Miscellaneous – to be kept in the attic indefinitely."_ Arthur really wasn't kidding when he said "miscellaneous," Alfred decided. He found a lacquered box he was fairly certain contained a small amount of opium, an old leather shoe, what looked like a bicycle wheel, and a pincushion in the shape of a hedgehog. When Arthur saw the pincushion, he paused in his story and brightened. He snatched it out of Alfred's hand.

"I thought I'd lost this for good," he said with a slight smile as he poked its button nose with a conspiratorial wink. "Aren't you just the cutest hedgepig, hmm?"

"Uhhh, Artie," Alfred said. "You know it's a _pincushion, _right? Like, you stick pins in it . . ." Arthur blinked at him. Alfred sighed and gave up. If Arthur didn't see why that was depressing, Alfred wasn't going to point it out to him.

Half an hour later, they had gotten through most of the large stuff. Some of it was Alfred's, but nothing he wanted to keep – his old bedside table, a bookshelf, a toy horse. There were some shoeboxes stacked in neat piles on the far side of the attic, but every time Alfred made to pick one up, Arthur would quickly come up with something else they should look at instead. Alfred was just about to ask what they contained when they heard footsteps below.

A man appeared at the entrance to the attic, balancing a platter on one hand. Resting on it were two glasses of iced tea and some biscuits. "Sirs, some refreshment."

"Oh, excellent," said Arthur. He put down the collection of buttons he had been sorting and cleared a place for the tray. "Thank you."

"Thanks," said Alfred cheerfully as he scooted over towards Arthur and took a glass. The servant nodded cordially and retreated down the ladder.

Arthur took his own glass and took a long drink. He sighed in pleasure and wiped his damp forehead on his arm. Alfred noticed. He carefully removed an ice cube from his glass and then reached over to Arthur and placed it against his forehead.

Arthur looked up in surprise. Alfred was smiling slightly. He moved it across his forehead and Arthur sighed slightly at the pleasant sensation. Arthur felt a water drop collecting above the bridge of his nose; the ice cube was starting to melt. Alfred removed it and took a napkin from the tray. He touched the edge of it to Arthur's forehead to wipe the moisture away, but Arthur reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him and surprising both of them at the physical contact. "Don't. The water feels nice."

"Okay." Alfred withdrew his hand and scooted back to his place. Arthur watched him as he took a sip of his own drink and then pulled a box towards him. Though Alfred had moved away, they were still closer than they had been before. Not wanting to appear lazy, Arthur looked away and returned to work.

"To be honest," Alfred said after a moment, "I tried to clean out my storage room a while ago. I didn't end up throwing a single thing away."

Arthur didn't look up to hide a smile. "I see." There was another moment of silence. Arthur moved a few buttons around without really paying attention to what he was doing. "Find anything of mine?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

Alfred shrugged, his glass still in his hands. "Some stuff. Mostly kinda old. I don't think you'd want any of it back."

Arthur smiled a little, sadly. "You're probably right."

"So, what's in those boxes?" Alfred asked with forced cheerfulness. Arthur accepted the change of topic without comment; he didn't want to talk about that anymore either.

"Some letters. I don't really know why I bother to save them."

Alfred pulled a box towards him and pulled off the lid. He began to rummage through it. He frowned. "These are all from Francis."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Put them in that pile. I should burn them."

Alfred grinned and reached for the next box. He thumbed through the letters, but the farther he got through the box the slower his motions became. He stopped and pulled out an envelope.

"What is it?" Arthur asked urgently. He wondered if this had been a bad idea; he really didn't remember half of what was up here.

"My letters," Alfred said. He unfolded this particular letter and skimmed it. He clearly remembered writing it, because his frown deepened slightly and he put it back in its envelope. "Are these in chronological order?"

"Yes," Arthur said, and realized too late that he should have said, _"Maybe."_

Alfred quickly looked through the envelopes until he found one he was looking for. He pulled it out and read it with a smile. Without a single word, he put it back and picked out another one.

Arthur was starting to get worried. He didn't really remember those letters that well. Admittedly, Alfred had written them, not him, but still. He didn't want Alfred to think he was _that _sentimental.

Alfred finished going through that box and began to look through the others. "If you're going to get rid of these I want to keep them," Alfred said.

"I don't mind keeping them up here. They don't take up much space." He squinted at the ceiling. "I don't think there's much chance of them suffering water damage. My people are pretty good about keeping this place leak-free."

Alfred glanced up at him and grinned. "Hey, fine by me. Just don't throw them away, yeah? They could be important historical documents or something."

Arthur snorted. "For who? Us? We can't exactly hand them over to our historians."

"True. They'd have to rewrite a lot more than I think they'd be okay with." Alfred laughed and returned to his current box. Arthur returned to his own work with a smile. He didn't need to press Alfred for a real reason to keep them. They knew they were both more sentimental than they had any right to be.

* * *

><p>Some time later, Alfred finally sat back on his heels and sighed. "Okay, so I've sorted through all these boxes of my letters, but I can't find my Declaration of Independence that I sent to you." He looked at Arthur. "Do you still have it?"<p>

Arthur stilled and stared at the still half-full box in front of him. "Yes," he said. His voice was quiet and very carefully neutral. There was a moment of silence as Arthur fiddled with the old toy horse still in his hands.

"Can I see it?" Alfred prompted.

Arthur stood up very carefully and dusted himself off. "Yes." He moved towards the ladder without another word. Alfred put down the letters he had been holding and followed him.

Arthur led Alfred to his study. There was a locked cabinet behind his desk and off to one side. It was probably older than the house and had been there for as long as Alfred could remember. Arthur took a key out of his pocket and opened the cabinet. There were stacks of files and important-looking papers inside. Arthur reached under a stack of them and pulled out a thin briefcase. He set it on his desk, put in the combination, and snapped it open.

There was a single piece of paper lying in its black velvet interior. The paper was very old and thick; it was parchment, and it had yellowed with age. The ink had turned pale and brown. The hand was unmistakable; it was Alfred's. Alfred picked it up with one hand.

"Be careful," Arthur snapped.

Alfred glanced at him and held it more gently. He examined it. Though it was faded, it hardly seemed damaged at all. It had worn the years well. He could still make out most of the words. He skimmed to the bottom: _"That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved . . ." _

"I'd forgotten I wrote this," Alfred said without thinking. "Everyone thought it was silly that I demanded on copying it by hand. They didn't get why I didn't just send you a printed copy. I think Jefferson got it, though. He always understood stuff like this."

"It probably would have been more legible if you had," Arthur said far too dryly. "Even then, your handwriting left much to be desired. At least you put more effort into it than you do your current chicken scratch."

Alfred frowned a little. "I had pretty nice penmanship back then."

"Why did you want to see it?" Arthur asked, changing subject too quickly to be natural. "You already know what it says, I imagine."

"Well, yeah, but I wanted to know if you'd kept it." Alfred looked back at the document in his hand. This – this had meant more to him than all the fighting, the war, that day in the rain with the scratched musket. It still did. _This _was what he had been fighting for. "It means a lot to me that you did," he said finally, because it needed to be said.

Arthur didn't say anything, just took it out of Alfred's hand. He placed it back in the briefcase and locked it inside. Back it went in the cupboard, buried under that pile of papers. Alfred wanted to ask if he still had Matt's, and all the others that had asked for their independence. (Perhaps "asked" wasn't the right word, but he would give Arthur the benefit of the doubt.) He didn't, though, because he didn't really care. If Arthur had a bunch of identical briefcases lined up in cabinets, that was fine with him. At least he had kept Alfred's.

But then Alfred saw Arthur's face. He had gone all quiet and had that grim look that Alfred hated. They could joke about it, sometimes, but that didn't mean they ever _talked _about it. Alfred sometimes wondered if they should. "Don't you ever wonder why I left?" Alfred said abruptly.

Arthur looked up with surprise. "I wasn't aware there was anything to wonder about." He smoothed down the front of his shirt and unconsciously rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. "You felt oppressed, or however you'd like to put it." He buttoned his cuffs, his fingers swift and sure.

Alfred hopped up on the table and sat with his legs swinging freely. "I really just wanted you to recognize me as an equal."

Arthur sighed. "Yes, and you got it."

Alfred's legs stopped swinging. "Not just as another country. An _equal, _Arthur."

Arthur looked up at him, confused. "Yes, I know. It took me a while, perhaps, but I did stop interfering in your affairs." He shook out his wrists and the sleeves dropped to their proper length. He began to idly organize some papers on his desk. "If you don't recall, we have fought on the same side of the battlefield several times since then."

"Well, yeah." Alfred's legs started swinging again. "I just mean, I sometimes wonder if you still look down on me as some little brother you used to have." He laughed, though neither of them found it funny.

"Do we have to talk about this?" Arthur demanded, uncharacteristically slamming some papers down on his desk. He was suddenly angry. Alfred had never wanted to talk about this before, when it _mattered, _but he felt it was alright to bring it up_ now_, when Arthur had finally built up all his carefully constructed walls and excuses and _oh, were we talking about the Revolutionary War? I didn't even notice. _Explaining himself to Alfred wouldn't make the truth any kinder that Arthur had been forced to accept: their shores were far away for a reason. They couldn't see each other whenever they wanted, they couldn't just pop over for a chat, they didn't have to pretend to act _so damn casual _every day of their lives. They were far enough away that the reminders of what they didn't have – and yes, they were constant, but at least they were small – were manageable. It was better that way.

"You don't have to be so grumpy about it," Alfred muttered, and for a moment it almost sounded as if he were upset. Then he jumped down off the table and walked towards the door. "I'm gonna go find something to eat," he said with a sigh. "Boring stuff makes me hungry."

_Everything makes you hungry, you git,_ Arthur thought, which was the normal thing for him to say, but it couldn't seem to make it past his lips. Alfred's footsteps disappeared into the kitchen. When he was sure that he was gone, Arthur gritted his teeth against the pain he always forced to the back, the pain of loss and the knowledge that one day Alfred would forget him.

_That's the thing about nations, _someone had told him once. _We don't really die, even if we're torn apart into shreds and consumed by other countries. We live on in our people's memories, and the history books, and when everything else has disappeared, the countries that we are a part of. Somewhere deep in those people's hearts, there will always be a little bit of us. _Arthur had given more of himself to Alfred than he had hoped to get back – but what was left of him now? The language? Alfred had taken even that away from him, made it into his own in the tiniest but most important of ways. Arthur couldn't see any of himself anymore in the man Alfred had become. He had hardly seen any of himself in him when he had been a boy, and what he had seen had been an illusion, he knew that now. If one day Arthur simply disappeared, would Alfred even remember him?

* * *

><p>They both went their separate ways for a time. Alfred had expected Arthur to join him in the living room at some point, at least, but Arthur seemed to have disappeared. He checked to see if Arthur had gone back to the attic, but the ladder was up and it was empty. Eventually, the dinner bell rang and Alfred followed it into the dining room. He was surprised to see Arthur already there. "Where have you been?" he asked curiously.<p>

Arthur waved a hand dismissively and might have blushed slightly, but Alfred couldn't be certain. He cleared his throat as the food was placed in front of them. "Aren't you going to eat?"

Alfred gave him a doubtful look – of course he was going to eat, had Arthur gone crazy? – but dug into his plate of food without questioning him further. Alfred suddenly looked very thoughtful and chewed the mouthful very slowly. He swallowed. "Arthur, did you cook this?"

"Hmm?" Arthur looked intently at his own plate of food.

"You've gotten the servants to cook all our other meals, but this tastes different. Did you?"

Arthur had definitely gone a bit pink. "Everything but the vegetables. I'm told I overcook them."

Alfred grinned. "Not too shabby!" He took another bite and chewed this one more enthusiastically. "I think you've finally got the hang of this," he mumbled around a mouthful.

"I have had rather a long time." Arthur stabbed one of his carrots with a little too much vigor. He couldn't help being pleased, though, despite the jab. The funny thing was, Alfred was actually very rarely outright critical of his cooking except in the company of other countries. However, he still rarely went so far as too actually compliment it, and "Not too shabby" certainly counted as a compliment in Arthur's book.

"Thanks," Alfred said.

Arthur looked up. "Pardon?"

Alfred waved his fork. "Thanks for cooking."

Arthur was floored. Alfred was actually _thanking _him? "You're welcome," he barely managed to say. He wasn't sure, because Alfred just went right back to eating and didn't seem to pay any more attention to Arthur after that, but it seemed almost like this was Alfred's way of apologizing. Arthur almost smiled. Sometimes Arthur would think that Alfred had no clue, and then he would do something like that. Maybe it hadn't been intentional, and they could both pretend it hadn't, but deep down, Arthur knew that Alfred did everything for a reason – which was why it hurt all the more every time Alfred left.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

That night, Alfred couldn't sleep. Actually, he hadn't been having the best time sleeping for the whole time he had been there. He wasn't usually the best at sticking to a regular sleeping schedule anyway (unless that schedule was stay up late and sleep in until he woke up), but it was more than that. His mind was restless. He couldn't get it out of his head that this was _Arthur's _house, and then that Arthur was only a few doors away from him, and that he could just walk over there _right now _and say, "Hey Artie, see, the real reason I'm here is that I wanted to see you . . ." Thankfully, those thoughts had vanished after the first two nights. Now all he could think about was . . . well, everything.

He stared at the ceiling he knew was above him, hidden though it was by the dark. _Arthur. _Too many years of history – but really, would it have been any different if they had had any less? When he was younger, he was too young. He knew there was no way things could have been different – _but what if, _a part of him whispered, _what if things had been different. _And what if they could be different in the future? He had gone through a thousand scenarios in his head, but they all had one constant that made him have absolutely no idea: Arthur.

There was an ache. At the beginning, he had thought it was the pain of betrayal, or realizing that he person he looked up to most didn't respect him, but he had since learned otherwise. It was the ache of wanting and the pain of knowing it was impossible.

With a sigh, Alfred tossed back the covers. He padded down the stairs with a glance at Arthur's door: there was no light under it now. He knew it was probably past midnight, though he didn't know exactly when. He turned on the TV with the volume down low and hoped that Arthur wouldn't notice, or happen to come down for a glass of water. As much as he wanted to be close to Arthur, he couldn't stand the idea of Arthur seeing him if there was the slightest chance his feelings were written on his face_. _

* * *

><p>Arthur heard Alfred's quiet footsteps going down the hall and pausing, ever so slightly, in front of his door before continuing down the stairs. He held his breath and listened very carefully. After a few minutes, he could hear the hum of the television. He placed a hand on his forehead and breathed out slowly. So Alfred couldn't sleep either. He had wondered, since the first night. Now he knew.<p>

After some time, perhaps half an hour, possibly an hour, Arthur decided that it had been long enough. He got up and was about to put on his slippers when he hesitated. He left his feet bare instead and walked quietly down the stairs.

Alfred was slumped sideways on the couch, a blanket tossed haphazardly over his legs. The television was playing a drama of some kind. Arthur stood there, watching him for a few minutes, but Alfred didn't move in the slightest. Arthur walked quietly over to the couch and looked down at Alfred without the slightest doubt that he was asleep. That was one thing Alfred had never been able to hide from Arthur: even when he had been small, Arthur had always been able to tell when Alfred was fast asleep and when he was pretending.

Alfred's face did not look as peaceful as it usually did when he was asleep. There was a slight frown in his brow, and his mouth was parted as though he were about to say something. He did not look physically uncomfortable; the room was a nice temperature, and the blanket wasn't heavy enough to make him too hot. His head rested comfortably enough on a pillow propped up against the armrest. He wanted to touch Alfred's forehead, smooth away his hair, but he couldn't. There was nothing Arthur could do for him.

Arthur walked over to the TV and switched it off. He paused a moment to see if Alfred would wake, but he didn't. He could make out the clock on the wall in the dim light: it was nearly two in the morning. There wasn't really any point in staying downstairs with Alfred. He would probably wake up at some point and go back upstairs to his own bed. Arthur's fingers itched adjust the blankets so they covered him fully, add another pillow, _something_, but he couldn't risk waking him. Arthur turned and walked back up the stairs to his bed.

* * *

><p>Alfred was woken in the morning, back in his own bed, by what sounded like a small army of small birds screaming happily in his ear. He groaned and rolled over. He tried to cover his ears with his pillow, but that didn't work. He looked at the clock and groaned again, this time despairingly. As far as he was concerned, this was an ungodly hour when no creature should ever be awake.<p>

Sometime later, Alfred gave up and stumbled downstairs. He was surprised to find Arthur already sitting in an armchair, reading the newspaper. Arthur looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Imagine seeing you downstairs before ten," he said sarcastically.

"Artie, your stupid birds woke me up," Alfred grumbled. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Arthur glared at him over the top of his newspaper. "I'm sure they're just glad you're here."

"Then why didn't they wake me up when I first got here?" Alfred complained. He flopped onto the couch.

Arthur disappeared back behind the newspaper. "Oh, they were trying."

Alfred groaned and stretched out into his full length, head propped up on one armrest and feet on the other. He scrunched his eyes closed against the light. "No wonder you're always in such a bad mood."

"I'm not always in a bad mood!" Arthur practically screeched.

"Yeah, yeah," Alfred muttered under his breath. He rolled over onto his side, but that wasn't any more comfortable, so he rolled back onto his back. He sighed heavily. Something occurred to him and he sat up a little straighter. "Hey, can we–"

"No plans for today," Arthur said immediately.

"Aw, why not?"

"I've put off talking to my superiors for too long. I have a meeting with the Prime Minister in a little over an hour."

"Aw. You aren't going to have _any _free time?"

"Well, maybe a little," Arthur said, looking disgruntled. "But we're not doing anything today. I have other work to do too."

Alfred grumbled. "Fine." There was a moment of silence before Alfred brightened again. "Is breakfast ready?"

There was a lot of rustling as Arthur wrestled with the newspaper. He finally managed to fold it up into something resembling its original shape and slammed it down onto the side table. "I'm sure you can check for yourself," he said, and stalked off towards the kitchen.

"Jeez," Alfred muttered after him. "What is up with you today?" He rolled off the couch and followed Arthur towards the source of food. _Please don't let him be cooking, _he thought. Arthur could actually cook a decent meal on occasion – dinner the night before actually been okay – but he had a tendency to cook when he was upset and angry. Upset Arthur usually meant some minor mistakes, like forgetting to add the baking soda, but angry Arthur almost always resulted in something getting burnt. "To hell with it" was not a good attitude for Arthur to have when he was cooking.

Luckily, Alfred found Arthur safely away from the oven and talking to the servants. Satisfied, Alfred sat down at the dining room table to wait. "What are you doing today?" he asked when Arthur sat down across from him.

"I really can't put off meeting with her or my boss any longer. I've scheduled a meeting for today to go over all those reports I've been trying to put off." Arthur ran his fingers irritatedly through his hair. "I'll probably be gone all afternoon, so just – don't destroy anything, alright?"

Alfred blinked at him innocently. "I can't come?"

Arthur paused. "You want to?"

Alfred grinned. "Well, yeah. You think I want to be stuck all alone in this boring house for the second day in a row?" Suddenly, Alfred perked up. "Can we say hi to the Queen?"

Arthur frowned uncertainly. Alfred was usually perfectly respectful _to_ the Queen, but not necessarily _around _her. He seemed to forget that as soon as he stopped speaking to the Queen, he did not suddenly have permission to act his normal idiotic self. This had caused slightly uncomfortable situations in the past, such as when Alfred didn't notice that Arthur's_ national anthem _was being played, and proceeded to talk his head off in front of Her Royal Majesty–

"Earth to Artie?"

Arthur blinked and looked at Alfred. "Er, yes. I suppose we could stop by and say hello. But you really have to let me have some time alone with her." He suddenly looked very guilty. "I haven't visited her as much as I should."

Alfred grinned. "Great! I really like her. I haven't seen her in ages."

"Yes, well," Arthur said, not even noticing that he had managed to indirectly agree to having Alfred accompany him to his meetings as well. "We'll see if she has time. I suppose you could come with me after the meetings – probably in the early afternoon. I'll give her a ring, I suppose."

"Awesome." The food appeared and Alfred suddenly became very distracted. He grabbed his fork and began to saw away at the edge of a giant waffle covered with strawberries and whipped cream that had been made specifically for him. (Oh, the things Arthur did for him sometimes.) "Try to be in a good mood so it'll be sunny."

Arthur scowled at him. "I can't control _everything_," he said testily. "Do you think I would let it rain all the time if I could?"

Alfred gave him a look over his food and opened his mouth as if to say something, but thankfully thought better of it and put some food in it instead. Arthur gave him a last frown and turned his attention to his own food. So what if it always rained, or was overcast and chilly. Yes, he couldn't control _everything, _but all the nations' personalities and feelings were manifested in their countries. He knew why it always rained, even if he would never say so. Perhaps he wouldn't be England if he wasn't always a little bit miserable. After all, the rain was what made everything so green.

He liked that everything was so green.

* * *

><p>They left after quite a bit of delaying from Alfred and nagging from Arthur – not <em>that <em>pair of shoes, you idiot, this isn't a sports game! – but still managed to make it to 10 Downing Street on time. The Queen was apparently expecting them for afternoon tea. Alfred had made a snarky remark at that, but Arthur was doing his best to just ignore everything that came out of Alfred's mouth with the hope that he would just _stop talking _once they had to be in a room with high-up members of Arthur's government.

Arthur didn't need to do anything to get into 10 Downing Street, but it took a little convincing to get Alfred in because Alfred obviously wasn't cleared and he had the poor sense to make a joke at the guards' expense. Eventually, though, Arthur snapped at Alfred and the security enough to make everyone decide they were better off just behaving, and they managed to get inside. Arthur ushered Alfred immediately to a conference room. It was empty.

"Artie, we're the first one's here," Alfred complained.

"Of course. We wouldn't make a good impression if we were late, would we?" Arthur took the seat at the head of the table and began to get his papers in order. He tapped the seat to his right. "You can sit here."

"Okay," Alfred said. He walked over to Arthur and sprawled out in the chair. It took Arthur a second to notice that Alfred had put his feet up on the shiny, newly-polished table.

"Alfred!" Arthur said, and slapped Alfred's feet with a notepad.

"This chair isn't comfortable," Alfred whined, but he took his feet down anyway.

"How is it that you have managed to go the last few days without acting like a brat, but the minute we go somewhere professional you become insufferable?" Arthur demanded just as the door opened. Arthur looked up. "Ah, Prime Minister. Good afternoon."

"Hello, Arthur," the Prime Minister said as he looked with a slight amount of concern between him and Alfred. He raised his eyebrows. "Hello Alfred. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I'm just visiting," Alfred said at the same time as Arthur said, "He's here on business." They glanced at each other. Arthur's eyes narrowed. _Don't you want this to seem as professional as possible? _

"Ah," said the Prime Minister, and he took the seat at Arthur's left.

Arthur pulled something rectangular out of his briefcase that looked strangely familiar. He held it out to Alfred. "Please be quiet for the duration of the meeting, if you can."

Alfred's eyes lit up as he recognized his Nintendo DS. "No way! How'd you know where I keep it?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You left it at my place the last time you visited. Please take it with you this time. And please, be _quiet._" Alfred just grinned and turned it on.

The door opened again and the head of some department or another came in. It took some time for them all to filter in, but not once did Arthur so much as mention Alfred's presence, despite some questioning looks and subtle hints. Surprisingly, Alfred didn't even try to introduce himself. When everyone was finally seated, Arthur stood. "This is Alfred," Arthur said with a gesture towards him. "He will be joining us today. He is also the United States of America. He is merely sitting in." Alfred grinned, waved at the room at large, leaned back in his chair, and returned to his game. Everyone looked a little shocked. Arthur turned back to the room. "Now then, about the GDP for the last quarter . . ."

An hour later, Alfred was getting pretty bored with playing a game over and over again that he had already beaten at least 70 times before. He tuned in briefly and noticed that the Prime Minister was speaking again. He was used to Arthur talking more at meetings. To be honest, he kind of liked listening to Arthur's voice. Come to think of it, when _had _Arthur last spoken? He looked up and saw that Arthur had propped up his head on one elbow and his eyes were closed. A wave of affection rolled over Alfred. Arthur so rarely let his guard down. Even when he was little, Alfred had loved seeing him asleep. His mouth was parted slightly and his shoulders moved softly with his even breathing. Alfred couldn't help a smile. Arthur wasn't snoring (yet), but Alfred almost wished he was. He had a soft spot for Arthur's snore.

With effort, Alfred turned back to his game. Arthur would probably be awake in a few minutes anyway, so there was no point in staring at him and possibly getting caught at it. He couldn't help a little glance every now and then, though, which was how he noticed Arthur's chin slowly slipping off his hand. Alfred quickly paused his game and only just managed to put a hand under Arthur's head before it fell all the way forward. Alfred held his breath, but Arthur didn't move. His breath was warm on Alfred's palm. Biting his lip in concentration, Alfred scooted his chair a little closer and attempted to prop Arthur's head up on the back of his chair. Arthur's head just rolled limply to the side, and if Alfred hadn't had a hand on his shoulder, he would have fallen out of his chair. Alfred sighed. "One of these days, you're going to fall over and break your nose, Artie, and I'm not going to be there to stop you," he muttered. He suddenly realized that he was only one talking in the entire conference room. He looked over his shoulder and found everyone staring at him. He grinned weakly. "He does this sometimes," he explained. He looked back at Arthur and gave him a light shake. Arthur's head lolled to the side and he snored faintly. Alfred tried to resist the blush he could feel creeping up the back of his neck. Arthur's snore was _not _enough to keep Alfred from waking Arthur up right now, because seriously, he couldn't support Arthur for the _entire _meeting–

Arthur snored a little louder and Alfred caved.

"Alright old man," he muttered, and positioned Arthur so his head was resting on Alfred's shoulder. He put an arm around Arthur – it was to keep him from falling over, okay! – and Arthur settled comfortably against him. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief and looked up to find that the rest of the occupants of the room still hadn't moved.

Alfred felt as though he were about to break out in a cold sweat. If Arthur ever found out about this . . . He tried a more charismatic grin. "When he's out, he's out like a log," Alfred assured his audience. "You guys can keep talking. He won't wake up." Everyone looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes. The Prime Minister cleared his throat awkwardly. There was more silence. Alfred wasn't the best at reading the mood, but he was good enough at parties to know when an icebreaker was call for. "You know, now that Artie's out, how would you like to take a break?" Everyone looked at him warily. Alfred grinned his most charming grin. "I promise I won't bite. Besides, he never has to know. You know . . ." He moved his Nintendo DS out of the way and put his feet up on the table. He resettled his arm around Arthur, who was a comfortable weight on his shoulder. "I'm sure Arthur's never told you about the time he feel asleep in a world meeting and starting talking to himself . . . about knitting." The temptation on their faces was almost too much. Alfred grinned. "So, it was a few years ago . . ."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Alfred finished a particularly entertaining story about Arthur's cooking adventures (okay, maybe not the most politically correct thing to point out, but come on, it was <em>Arthur's cooking<em>). Alfred was shaking with laughter at his own story while the room was filled with chuckles and grins. Arthur shifted on Alfred's shoulder and groaned quietly. Alfred looked down at him and froze. Arthur nuzzled Alfred's shoulder as though he were trying to burrow into it. Alfred shivered and all of his hair stood on end. He held his breath. _Please don't be awake, please don't be awake . . . _Arthur opened his eyes a crack, frowned slightly at Alfred's neck, and then shot straight up as though he had been shocked.

"The bloody hell?" Arthur screeched as he scrambled frantically back into the safety of his own chair. The rest of the room's occupants immediately stopped smiling. Arthur stared at Alfred as he began to quickly turn pink. "What – I – when –" He looked frantically around the room and saw all the government officials trying not to stare. He turned an even deeper shade of red and straightened his suit jacket. "Why didn't you wake me up?" he snapped to Alfred.

"Why'd you fall asleep?" Alfred asked with a grin.

Arthur glanced at his watch. "Blast it," he muttered under his breath. He stood up and began frantically gathering up his papers. "You kept me up late last night! Watching telly at two in the morning – why would you _do _that?" He closed his briefcase with a click. With a lot of awkward throat-clearing, the rest of the people in the room began doing the same.

"I couldn't sleep."

"And why's that?" Arthur ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly, but the blush was fading from his cheeks. "Don't tell me you're still on American time."

"Artie, I'm _always _on American time."

"Which time zone?" Arthur's Prime Minister asked innocently. "I've always wondered what you do about that." Arthur and Alfred both looked at him.

"Uh," said Alfred, and completely blanked.

"Yes, I suppose you don't have just one," Arthur said sarcastically, returning his attention to Alfred immediately. "But the East Coast, of course. That's where D.C. is."

"Uh, sure. I mean, yes, of course." Alfred winced. He had never felt particularly tied to one time zone over another and felt little difference when he traveled within his own borders, but he adjusted to foreign time zones at the same rate as most humans. Technically, he should have adjusted to Arthur's time days ago – but Arthur didn't really need to know that.

"Would you like to postpone our meeting?" the Prime Minister asked. The room was emptying quickly.

"Oh, no. I've put it off long enough as it is," Arthur said with a sigh. "I'm terribly sorry about all this."

"Not at all," the Prime Minister said. "It's been very nice chatting with Alfred. I usually don't get the chance."

"Wait, he _talked?" _Arthur turned pale all over again.

Alfred laughed. "Don't worry. It wasn't anything _too _embarrassing."

"Alfred, I swear by the Queen, if you told that story about–"

"I'm sure the Prime Minister can't remember any of it anyway," Alfred said, and ruffled Arthur's hair, which just made him splutter all the more. He laughed. "Come on, loosen up. It's good to let people close to you see your fun side."

"Close to me! Alfred, this is _my government." _

"Uh, yeah? I've got one of those too."

Arthur attempted to glare at him, but as usual, it quickly faded into a mildly angry look. "Don't you care if anyone respects you?"

Alfred grinned. "Sure. Doesn't mean I can't still be friends with them."

Arthur shook his head and began to walk towards the door. "I'll see you when I'm done with my meeting. If you go back to my place, they should let you in if you knock. I'll come by when it's time for us to see the Queen."

" 'kay." Alfred frowned slightly, an expression Arthur recognized with after years of practice as one of hunger. "Actually, I think I'm going to go by a Micky D's first."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Just don't get sidetracked. I don't want to have to go looking for you."

"Yeah, yeah. See ya later." Alfred left with a wave.

When he was gone, Arthur sighed. His Prime Minister gave him a knowing look. "How long has he been here?" he asked politely.

"A few days." He closed the door behind them and made for the Prime Minister's private office.

His Prime Minister easily fell into step beside him. "Have you been fighting this much for all that time?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know why it always comes out at meetings like this."

The Prime Minister smiled slightly. "Perhaps you feel you have something to prove."

"Nonsense. We're past that point of our relationship."

"I mean to us, not to each other."

Arthur looked briefly at him but said nothing.

"The Queen's been anxious about you." The Prime Minister held the door open.

"I know. She called me." Arthur scowled, trying to cover up how unsettled he was. "I don't know why, though."

"Apparently someone told the palace staff that you had a guest."

"The servants, I should have known," Arthur muttered. The Prime Minister took his seat behind his desk, but Arthur chose to stand. He set his briefcase down and began to pace. "Why would she be anxious?"

"Someone told her it was Alfred," he said quietly.

Arthur stilled. He had spoken to the Queen about Alfred before, of course. She had a way of looking at him without saying a single word that made him think that she _knew. _He hated it, because of course she was supposed to know – she was his Queen – but she also seemed to think that he should _do _something about it. She never said so, not directly, and would listen patiently when he ranted, but he still knew that she wanted to say something_. _The worst thing was, she didn't even need to.

"Business?" Arthur said, perhaps a little too sharply. He briefly closed his eyes and mentally winced. He didn't like to admit that all this was getting to him, but it was.

"Of course," said the Prime Minister. Arthur sat down, opened his briefcase, and tried to not think about anything but work.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

After his meeting with the Prime Minister, Arthur left 10 Downing Street and walked briskly through St. James Park to Buckingham Palace. He was let in without a single question, of course, and started for the stairs he knew would lead to where the Queen would be, but he paused. The Queen had called him that morning and said delicately, oh, you haven't visited in a while; would you like to come by this afternoon? and Arthur had replied that of course, it would be his pleasure; but if this really was about Alfred, as the Prime Minister had implied . . . Arthur chewed on his lower lip. Now that he was at the palace, he wasn't sure whether this was a good idea. The Queen almost never called, so she must think that this was more important than he liked to believe it was. Doubtless she was worried that his guest was distracting him with some problem that Arthur mistakenly thought he should deal with by himself – which was at least partially true.

_But it's Alfred, _he thought.

And then, _But it's the Queen. _

He walked up the stairs and knocked very lightly on the door of her favorite sitting room.

"Come in."

The Queen smiled when he entered. "Your Majesty," he said a bow of his head.

"Arthur. It's good to see you."

He took a seat and poured them each a cup of tea from the fine china tea set on the silver tray between them. "I apologize that I have been absent the last few days."

"I only hope you've been well. I heard that Alfred is visiting. I can't begrudge you time spent with a friend." Arthur frowned slightly at that. She noticed. "Is something the matter?"

Arthur made an effort to turn his expression into something more pleasing. "I'm sorry. I just . . . hope you don't mind that I didn't mention that Alfred is staying with me."

"You did when you called this morning."

"Yes, well." Arthur sipped his tea and looked away.

"Has it been nice seeing him?"

"Yes," Arthur forced out, trying to make it sound polite. "We haven't seen each other in a while."

"Is he here on business?"

Arthur met her eyes and saw that it was an honest question. She hadn't heard anything from Alfred's boss, then, and since Arthur hadn't mentioned it . . . Arthur shifted uncomfortably and sighed. "He says it is, but I don't believe him."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why not?"

"He hasn't done a single thing since he got here." Arthur scowled into his tea. "Something about . . . I don't even remember. It had something to do with the financial crisis."

"Could he be here to apologize? You were very sick earlier . . ."

"I never told him about that." Arthur's lips were tight. "He never asked, anyway, though I don't know why he would have. He'd have to be blind to think we hadn't all been affected. Even if he did notice, he'd never think to be worried about me."

She smiled at him. "He does care about you, you know." Arthur shook his head and sighed. The Queen sipped her tea and changed her angle. "Have you two been getting along?"

"No different than usual."

"Really?"

Arthur looked up at the quickness of the question. It was subtle – his Queen was very proper, of course – but he had known her long enough to tell. "Has someone said something?" he asked with the slightest of frowns.

She waved a hand. "Of course not. They're far too polite." She was silent for a moment. "How is it?"

Arthur looked at her. He knew there was no use lying: she knew exactly how he felt about Alfred, even though he had never told her directly. He cleared his throat. "How is what?" he asked, just to delay the inevitable.

"Arthur," she said quietly, and Arthur had to look up, because it wasn't a plea or command to him as a country, but a request to him as a person. It hurt, a little, to know how well she understood him. She put a hand gently over his where it rested on his knee. "Please. You know you can trust me."

He let out a shuddering breath, and suddenly it was easy to speak again. "It's awful. I have a hard enough time getting him out of my head, and now he's around all the time. I have to watch every little thing I say around him _all the time. _I forget, during meetings, because I have to do that for everyone, and they usually only last a few days, but this–" He ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't even know why he's here."

"Why don't you talk to him about it?" the Queen asked.

Arthur scowled at his tea. "It's complicated. Well, no, it's not. It's as simple as anything. We can't talk about business in a comprehensible manner on a day-to-day basis, let alone something like this."

The Queen settled her teacup in its saucer and held it firmly in her lap. "I have known you for what, for me, at least, is a very long time, and Alfred has always made you more conflicted than I have seen you about anything else." Her voice was very quiet. "Are you in love?"

Love. Arthur froze. What did that mean, anyway? He was a country. He had survived for centuries without that kind of love. All he needed was the love of his people, and he had that. But to love another country? What right did he have? If his people had made him who he was, how could he think of another country, and by some distant extension their people, in that way? "I can't answer that," he said quietly.

"Have you thought about the future?"

He looked up to find her watching him closely. He frowned slightly. "I think it should be obvious there isn't one."

"You're prepared to wait, then? For eternity?"

He cringed. He knew full well that what waited for him probably wasn't eternity, but something very close to it. "I'm not prepared to wait for anything," he nearly snapped, and caught himself just in time for it to come out as something a little gentler. "I'm not _waiting," _he clarified. "I've tried to ignore it, but it's not going to just go away, so I just have to live it with it." He tapped his fingers restlessly on his knee. "There simply isn't anything I can do."

"You say that as if he hasn't changed."

He looked at her levelly. "Oh, he has, and his feelings with him. Don't think I don't know that."

"Not all for the bad, Arthur," she said, and the look she gave him pierced something in him. There was something sad in that look, as though Arthur had disappointed her. Arthur hated it.

"No, but not all for the good, either," he snapped. He put his teacup in its saucer on the table and it rattled. "This isn't some crush, and it's certainly not young love. This isn't something that is just going to _get better, _and certainly not by talking about it_._" He knew he was losing his composure, but at the moment he didn't care. "I have felt this way about him for _centuries, _and I expect to for centuries more. I can't just fix this!"

"Arthur, as a young Queen this wasn't my place," she said sternly, "But after all these years, can you really think that I haven't known you long enough? He hurts you, I can see that, and you should do something about it."

Arthur looked away. He knew that her words were to be respected, but he couldn't help feeling that no one truly understood, or could understand, what this was like. "I have already been rejected by him once," he said quietly. "I don't know that I could bear it again."

"If you admit he has changed, you must admit there is a chance."

Arthur closed his eyes. He knew he wouldn't be able to do it; it was as simple as that. He open his eyes and met her gaze. "Thank you for speaking with me."

The Queen stood as he did. "Be careful," she said, and he could see the caring and knowledge of her years in her eyes. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

He looked away. "I know. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Yes."

Arthur left, feeling surprisingly clearheaded. At least someone knew, and she hadn't hated him for it. That much was a relief, at least, but his Queen was not Alfred. There was no way Alfred could love him like that, then or now. It was as simple as that.

* * *

><p>"Alfred?" Arthur called when he got back. The door clicked shut behind him and he walked purposefully into the living room. With a frown, he found that no one was there. "Alfred?" he called up the stairs. When there was no reply, he went up anyway. After a knocking briefly and peeking inside Alfred's guest room, he found that it also was empty. He wasn't in his old room, and he would never go into Arthur's study. Arthur was about to go back downstairs, but he hesitated. There was something that made him want to look in his own room, even though Alfred would never go in there . . . would he?<p>

For some reason deciding that he should be quiet about it, Alfred walked softly over to his door and carefully turned the handle. He peered inside and was met with the sight of Alfred on his stomach in the middle of Arthur's bed, surrounded by papers and his laptop. When Arthur opened the door, Alfred looked up and grinned. "Hey Artie!" he chirped.

"What are you _doing?" _Arthur demanded, walking the rest of the way into the room. His face went pale. "If those are my papers–"

Alfred laughed. "Relax! These are mine. My boss has kinda been bugging me to get some work done, so I thought I'd take advantage of you being all worky and stuff."

Arthur processed this for a heartbeat. "And you thought the best place to do this would be my _bed?" _

"Mine's too small," Alfred said matter-of-fact-ly. "And I didn't want to lie down on the _floor." _

Arthur stared at him in disbelief. "You really are an idiot."

"What? It's comfy." With that, Alfred, apparently without a care in the world, went back to typing on his laptop. After a few moments of silence, during which Arthur did not move in the slightest, Alfred looked up. "You can join me, if you want," he said. "There's room."

"I – I absolutely will not," Arthur said, quickly turning pink. "It's lunch time. Get your things and get off of my bed."

Alfred rolled his eyes, but got off the bed and walked past Arthur to the door.

"What about your stuff?" Arthur squawked indignantly.

"I'll get it later. Come on, I'm starved."

Muttering under his breath, Arthur followed Alfred done the stairs where a simple lunch was waiting for them.

"How's the Queen?" Alfred asked as they sat down. "Still up for seeing me later?"

"Yes, Alfred, she is, and she's doing well." Arthur eyed him and thought of the Queen. She would probably want to see Alfred even more now, just so she could see how far gone Arthur really was. It made Arthur feel anxious and slightly sick. "I want you on your best behavior, understand? No–"

"No interrupting or talking over her, yada yada yada. I'm not a complete imbecile, Arthur." Alfred rolled his eyes.

Arthur huffed in annoyance but let it go. Alfred would be Alfred, and there really was nothing Arthur could do about that.

Alfred ate his way through his first sandwich while constantly babbling about work, though it all sounded like perfectly routine things to Arthur. Certainly none of it required Alfred being in Europe – actually, from what Arthur could tell, Alfred being away from home was proving to be a major impediment. Arthur was somewhat grateful that Alfred chose to get a second sandwich just as Arthur was finishing his first. Arthur excused himself from the table with an excuse about not wasting time, and Alfred finally managed to eat his sandwich in silence.

Arthur carried his dishes into the kitchen, turned on the water, and, strangely enough, did not reappear. After a few minutes, Alfred finished up his food and took his plates in to investigate.

Arthur was standing in front of the sink with his sleeves rolled up and his fingers covered in soap suds. He was scrubbing away at a plate and had a look of absolute contentedness on his face. Alfred paused in the doorway and smiled. It was so rare to see Arthur that relaxed and carefree. The slight smile in his eyes, the tilt of his shoulders; it brought back memories of when Alfred was only a child and he would tug at Arthur's trousers, saying, _Please, Arthur, play with me, _and Arthur would laugh and tell him yes, but only after he finished the dishes. Sometimes Alfred would help, perched on a step-stool, and be told to be very careful with the china. The memories were vague to Alfred, but still as bright and sun-filled as ever. Arthur's voice was the constant in all of them that told Alfred none of it had been a dream.

Arthur looked up and saw Alfred. He smiled. "Aren't you going to help?"

Alfred came over to him and put his dishes next to the sink. "Don't you have a dishwasher yet?"

Arthur tapped it with his knee and shook his head. "I do, but I prefer to do dishes this way. Help dry. There's a towel over there."

Alfred dutifully picked up the towel and began to carefully dry off one of the plates. He wasn't usually so careful and so precise, but lately he had been wanting to feel closer to Arthur than he had felt in a long time. He didn't want Arthur's praise, exactly, but he wanted to do everything _right._

"You've been very quiet lately," Arthur murmured almost absentmindedly after a moment of silence. "Why is that?"

Alfred winced internally. He had been trying to act normally, but he should have known better than to think he could fool Arthur. "I dunno. Probably just the recession and stuff."

"You don't look too bad."

Alfred shrugged. "Still recovering, I guess."

Arthur hummed in response. "Here's the last one." He handed Alfred a plate and picked up a dishtowel to dry off his hands.

"Thanks." Alfred hesitated and Arthur looked at him expectantly. "Hey, I was wondering. When people meet us, do you think they see the real us, or the country we represent?" Alfred's blue eyes were slightly concerned. He was holding the still half-dried plate in his hands. "I just kind of wonder how much people think about _me _and how much they think about my people, you know?"

Arthur sighed and leaned against the counter. "Is there a real us?" He had been grappling with this question for centuries. "Are we any more than the sum of our parts? Our people have more complex views than we usually give them credit for. Maybe we are nothing more than a sum of their desires and actions."

Alfred stopped drying the plate and looked at him, stunned. "You really believe that?"

Arthur met his eyes for a moment and then looked away, embarrassed. "I don't know. I've had a long time to think about it, and I still don't know."

Alfred shook his head. "There's no way that's how it works."

"How can you be so sure?" Arthur looked at Alfred almost desperately. He had wanted to know the answer to this question for so long. If he really was nothing more than the sum of his people, there was a _reason _why he felt about Alfred the way he did. If his people agreed on some level with all his thoughts, he was justified in feeling this way. If not . . . he didn't even want to think about the possibility. If this was all only the part of him that was _Arthur, _if he took any step he would not only probably be going against Alfred's wishes, but those of his people as well. He could barely stand the idea of being disappointed, as much as he hated it, but he absolutely could not stand the idea of disappointing his people.

Alfred ran his fingers through his hair. His cowlick sprung reliably back into place. "I'm not sure, but . . ." His mouth twisted in a childish way. "There have been times in my history when my people have wanted something – well, most of them have wanted it – and I would go along with it, but deep down it didn't feel like I should. Like it was wrong." Alfred bit his lip and looked at Arthur. "I think there's a part of us that knows what's right. Maybe it's still connected to our people, but . . . I think that if we were only what our people made us, we would always go with the majority." He shook his head. "I don't know about you, but that's not always where my opinions fall."

Arthur's heart thudded in his chest. "How can we decide when to act, then? Can we choose to act against what our people want?"

Alfred shrugged. "Of course. Sometimes we have to, right?" Arthur tensed; he could remember very well a few such instances. "I guess the question is whether we wait to act until it's the majority, or if we just go ahead with it."

Arthur's heart sank. "And if it's never the opinion of the majority?"

Alfred smiled a small, sad smile. "Then it's not an easy choice, is it?"

Arthur stood there quietly while Alfred finished drying the plate, lost in thought. When he put it away, Arthur finally straightened. "Get yourself dressed. We're going to see the Queen."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>I think half the reason this chapter took so long is because it has the Queen in it. I don't know how to write real people. T.T I did look up some of her speeches, but it was still pretty difficult to get an idea of her personal voice.

As for my headcanons: I like to think that when the whole slavery thing (or any number of other things) was happening, Alfred knew deep down that it was wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

It wasn't long before they were at Buckingham Palace. The guards recognized Arthur immediately, and they parted with a click of their boots. With a nod and a "Good afternoon," Arthur walked between them, Alfred at his side. They stopped inside for a moment while Arthur inquired if anything had changed since that morning. Alfred looked around the palace, somewhat bored. He wasn't in there very often, but the decor changed very infrequently, so he had seen it all before. When Arthur started up the stairs, however, Alfred followed him happily. He really did like the Queen, and for some reason, he especially wanted to see her now.

The guards admitted them to an ornately furnished sitting room. The Queen greeted them pleasantly. "Hey!" exclaimed Alfred, and promptly shook her hand. Arthur ground his teeth in annoyance, but the Queen didn't seem to mind.

After all, Arthur reflected glumly, she was probably used to it.

They all sat down and the Queen offered Alfred tea out of politeness, though he of course declined (politely, at least, for which Arthur was extremely grateful). He did happily take a few biscuits, though. Arthur poured tea for the Queen and himself, and they began to chat.

"How are you, Alfred?" the Queen asked. "I hear you've been staying with Arthur."

Alfred beamed, as usual. "Yeah, it's been great! He's been really nice to me."

"That's lovely to hear," she said with a kind smile, and sipped delicately at her tea. "How have you been feeling?"

"A lot better lately."

"Good." The Queen and Arthur sipped their tea and the cups and saucers clinked faintly. "I hear you are here on business?"

Alfred laughed embarrassedly. "Kinda. It's nothing formal, don't worry. My boss just wanted me to check on stuff."

The Queen and Arthur exchanged a subtle glance. "Is that so? It must be very important, for you come all the way here."

Alfred grinned. "Sure is, but not as important as the stuff Artie's been doing. I feel kinda bad, disturbing him and everything."

_Good job changing the subject, _Arthur thought sarcastically.

"Actually," Alfred continued casually, "I think I might be going soon. I get the feeling I'm kinda getting on his nerves." Alfred chuckled a little and caught Arthur's eye. Arthur nearly dropped his teacup in shock. _Leaving?_ Before he could blurt out something, however, the Queen smoothly intervened.

"What a pity," she told Alfred, and there was real disappointment in her tone. "I had understood that Arthur was quite enjoying your company, and I have hardly seen you at all, dear."

Alfred forced a smile. "Yeah, but I wouldn't want to be responsible for the collapse of the British government or anything."

"You give yourself too much credit," Arthur muttered.

"At least the weather has been warm for your visit. Hasn't it been lovely, Arthur?" Arthur frowned slightly at the change of topic, but nodded. "The flowers have been wonderful. Actually, Arthur," she continued, "I think the roses in the lower garden have reached their final blooms."

"Really." Arthur didn't have to look at Alfred to know that his eyes had glazed over; Alfred was not very interested in gardens or anything having to do with them (at least, not when they were England's).

"You really should go and see them before they disappear altogether, especially on a day like today." She smiled. "It would be a shame to let it go to waste."

Arthur's eyebrows moved up ever so slightly. "Would you like to take a walk with me later today, perhaps?"

The Queen's eyes twinkled. "Oh, no. I already saw the gardens this morning. You must be so busy, though. Why don't Alfred and I stay here, and you can go see them in peace?"

Arthur stared at her. "You and Alfred?"

"Yes, dear. I'm sure we can keep ourselves entertained for a quarter of an hour." She smiled pleasantly.

Arthur glanced at Alfred and found that he was looking a bit puzzled, but happy. Arthur tried to think of some way to stall, but he could find none. He had had a bad feeling about why his Queen would _choose _to be alone with Alfred, but if that was what she wanted . . . "Very well. It is a very nice day." He set down his tea and stood. He nodded at the Queen. "Your Majesty."

She smiled. "Arthur. Have a lovely walk."

"Thank you." He glared briefly at Alfred as he left, but Alfred wasn't paying him the slightest amount of attention. Instead, his tongue was sticking out slightly as his hand hovered over the biscuits. It was clearly a difficult decision. _Don't do anything idiotic, _he thought desperately as he closed the door behind him. _Please. _

The Queen was quiet for a moment as Arthur's footsteps receded. "Alfred," the Queen said kindly as soon as she was sure that he was gone, "Have you ever been in love?"

Alfred managed to accidentally knock the entire plate of biscuits on the floor.

* * *

><p>Arthur had not been out in the palace grounds in quite some time. They were very beautiful, it was true, though a trifle dry at the moment. The drought had not been kind to him. Arthur paused in front of the small rose garden and gazed at them; they, at least, had survived the heat. He brushed a finger across one of the loveliest, a beautiful orange rose that looked like a sunset. It was perfect, just at the point between rosebud and dying flower.<p>

Arthur put his hand back in his pocket. Talking to the Queen was theoretically helpful, but she was his monarch and therefore had a very particular bias. Arthur could not talk to any other nations about this, of course, but he did have some friends who listened very, very well and kept secrets better than anyone else he knew. Arthur leaned against a tree, rejoicing in the cool of the shade, and closed his eyes. When he opened them a moment later, he saw a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye. A unicorn walked out from behind the rosebushes and Arthur smiled.

* * *

><p>It took a good five minutes of Alfred apologizing, turning alternately bright red and pink, and desperately trying to clean everything up while just managing to rub crumbs into the carpet, before the Queen put a hand on his arm, told him it was quite alright, and called in a maid to clean it up for them.<p>

"Now then, where were we?" the Queen asked when the maid left.

Alfred had finally collected himself, but her knowing smile almost started him stuttering again. Alfred swallowed. "You know, don't you?" he blurted out.

She shrugged politely. "I have guessed."

"How?" he demanded, before remembering that he was supposed to be polite to the Queen. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried again. "I mean, I'm not here that much, and I see you even less, so you don't have that many opportunities to, uh–" He waved his hands in the air. "Deduce stuff."

"Perhaps you're too polite to mention it, but I have been queen for a rather long time," she said dryly. "I have had plenty of time to observe the two of you together. It's really not that hard to spot when you look for it."

Alfred squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. He felt himself blushing again. "It's not, like – it doesn't bother you, though?"

The Queen laughed. "My dear, for reasons I can't reveal, I would be going against my duty if it did."

"Wait, do you mean Artie is–? But oh, he probably didn't tell you, I guess you know 'cuz of Francis or someone . . . but that would have been way before you were born . . . wouldn't it?" Alfred buried his head in his hands with a groan. "I know, I know, you can't tell me. Sworn to secrecy or whatever."

"Yes, I am," she said quietly, "Which means you can talk to me."

Alfred looked up, his face suddenly expressionless. "You really wouldn't tell him?" he asked in a low voice. "Even if he asked?"

Her gaze was serious. "I believe we both have Arthur's best interests at heart. I may have a duty to him as my country, but I would still not betray the trust of someone like you, Alfred."

Alfred smiled slightly. "Thanks."

"Have you ever talked to him about this?"

Alfred chuckled a little and shook his head. "Nah. We've kind of got, you know . . ."

"Some history?"

Alfred laughed; he remembered why he liked the Queen. "Yup. It kinda makes things hard, talking to him especially."

"I think he'd like it if you tried. I know that Arthur has a tendency to close up about things like this, but I also know that all the times when you have been distant have been hard on him."

Alfred stared at her, slightly slack-jawed. "But . . . we're distant right now." He blinked. "I mean, I know he doesn't think so, and we've been distracted by the recession and everything, but . . . I feel like I haven't really talked to him in ages." He was silent for a moment. "I miss him."

The Queen smiled slightly. "I believe it's entirely possible that he misses you too."

There was a moment of silence. Alfred opened his mouth but hesitated. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

Alfred looked down at his hands and swallowed heavily. "I really, really don't want to lose his friendship. It took a really long time for us to get here, and that I can call him a friend . . . you have no idea how much that means to me." He took a deep breath. "I wouldn't even be talking about this, but I think I'm damaging our friendship. It's like every time I look at him, I just think about how I want things to be and how they're never going to be that way." He hunched his shoulders miserably. "I want to tell him. I don't think he really _gets _why I've done a lot of the things I've done, and sometimes he gets this look in his eye like he thinks no one cares about him. I want him to know that that's not true." Alfred took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. "Do you think . . . do you think if I did, it would make things worse?"

The Queen smiled sadly at him. After a moment, she put a hand gently over his and Alfred blinked in surprise at the contact. "No one can know the answer to that. What I do know, what I have learned, is that no one should put off the important things in life. You may live longer than we do, but that doesn't make time any less important. Alfred, there are not very many things that make Arthur happy. I think that if there is the slightest chance of it, you should take the opportunity to be one of them." The Queen pulled her hand away and Alfred thought he saw what might have been tears in her eyes. "Now, I am beginning to get worried that Arthur will die of heatstroke in the gardens, so shall we call him back?"

* * *

><p>When Arthur came inside at the summons of a servant, he was surprised to find the Queen and Alfred waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. The Queen was smiling, but Alfred looked unusually sad and serious. The smile he mustered for Arthur was strained and looked fake. Upon closer examination, the Queen's smile didn't look entirely genuine, either.<p>

"Is anything the matter?" Arthur asked sharply, looking between the two of them.

"Not at all," said the Queen.

"Nope," added Alfred. He widened his smile into a weak grin. "How were the roses?"

"Pleasant, thanks," Arthur answered idly. He tried to send an inquiring look in the Queen's direction, but she seemed to be avoiding his gaze. Arthur gave her a short bow. "Farewell."

"And you, Arthur," she replied.

"See ya," Alfred said, and Arthur was too worried to even correct him.

* * *

><p>The walk back to Arthur's house was tense. It took a full minute for Arthur to work up the courage to speak. He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked at the sky. "Did the Queen have anything interesting to say?"<p>

Alfred shrugged. "Just being polite, pretty much."

"Right."

Alfred noticed Arthur's bitterly sarcastic tone, knew that it meant that Arthur was frustrated, and ignored it. When they went inside, Arthur busied himself with taking off his coat and pointedly avoided looking at Alfred. Alfred mentally shrugged. That was just fine with him.

"Would you like me to put the kettle on?" asked a servant.

"No thanks," Arthur snapped, and that was when the faint thought crossed Alfred's mind that maybe he really should be worried.

Alfred headed towards the stairs with the intention of sequestering himself in his room for the rest of the day, but he was barely halfway there when Arthur's sharp steps behind him made him pause and look back. Arthur's eyebrows were drawn together, never a good sign, and he was clearly quite angry. There was also something else in Arthur's eyes, and if Alfred hadn't known better, he would have called it fear. _Fear of what? _dismissed Alfred's mind. Arthur had nothing to be afraid of.

_Maybe he thinks the Queen told you something she wasn't supposed to, _whispered part of him, but Alfred pretended not to hear it.

"Look," Arthur demanded, "Why are you really here? Don't give me some nonsense about your boss sending you here, because you haven't _done anything_."

Alfred frowned slightly and faced him. "What, I can't just visit you?"

"You never 'just visit' me, _America. _If that is why you're here, then why did you lie to me?"

That hurt. "I wasn't lying. I haven't exactly been doing what my boss asked, but I really was sent here on business. Here." Alfred pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. He walked forward and held it out to Arthur. After a moment, Arthur took it. It was a list numbered to ten. "It's the list of countries I'm supposed to be improving my relations with," Alfred said.

Arthur skimmed it. His expression faded from anger to confusion. "Alfred, I'm only number five," he said exasperatedly, and looked up at Alfred. "Why are you here? These other countries–"

"But you're _on there,_" Alfred said. He crossed his arms and met Arthur's gaze steadily. "You shouldn't be on that list at all. I shouldn't need to be 'diplomatic' with you or whatever the hell I'm supposed to do. Do you know what this means? This means that our approval ratings–"

"I know what this means," Arthur interrupted. "I assume you haven't even looked at the numbers." He handed the list back to Alfred, who stuffed it back in his pocket without looking at it. "I have, or at least I did a while ago. They're not great, but comparatively–"

"Comparatively!" Alfred nearly shouted. "Comparatively? Arthur, everyone _hates _me right now. _You shouldn't be on that list." _

"Not everyone _hates _you," Arthur snapped. "This hasn't been easy for any of us, and here you are, fit as a fiddle, and you're the one who started it!" Alfred opened his mouth, but Arthur cut him off before he could say anything. "Obviously people are going to be unhappy, butit's not all hatred. If you showed everyone else what you just showed me, that you at least know it was your fault and take some responsibility for it–"

"_Arthur,_" Alfred said. "You don't get it. I don't care about the other countries on that list–"

"Well you _should._"

"–Just you. I can deal with them later." Alfred was staring at Arthur, and his tone was hard, but there was something pleading in his eyes. "I feel like we lost something somewhere when I wasn't looking, some part of our relationship. Aren't we friends?" Alfred's voice went a little too high on the last word.

Arthur sighed, and he felt as if all his strength had left him. "Of course we're friends," he said quietly. He sat down on the couch and looked out the window. "Of course we are. People don't stop being friends just because of something like this." _But they do stop being friends because of something much bigger. _

Alfred came and sat down next to him. Arthur heard him sigh and saw him rest his head against the back of the couch. Alfred put one foot on the edge of the coffee table to brace himself, and for once Arthur didn't say anything about it. They sat there for a long moment in silence. "You really thought you could make everything better by sitting in my house for a week?" Arthur finally demanded. Alfred puffed out air petulantly in response. Arthur turned him to him. "Why didn't you just explain this from the beginning?" he asked, and this time his voice was gentle.

Alfred looked at him. "Would it actually have helped?" he asked quietly.

Arthur looked down at his hands. "I suppose not." There were a lot of things Arthur wanted to say. _Are you really going to leave? _was one of the first. There was something hard in his throat, though, and he didn't trust himself to speak.

"I think I'm going to see about going back to that hotel," Alfred said. "I've bugged you long enough."

Arthur nodded numbly. He could see from his peripheral vision that Alfred was standing up and walking towards the stairs. After a moment, Alfred was out of sight. _I can't deal with this anymore,_ Arthur thought as he stared at the place where Alfred had been._ I just can't._


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

Alfred packed up his belongings quickly and got a room at the same hotel he had been at before. He didn't say goodbye to Arthur, and Arthur secretly hoped that he would call before he left. By breakfast the next morning, Arthur still hadn't heard anything, and Arthur decided that he would not make any plans at all around what Alfred might or might not do. He decided to see the Queen again, because he really had been neglecting her for the last week – and, if he was to be honest with himself, she was the only true family he had. He packed his briefcase and set out without any other plans whatsoever. In fact, if he spent the whole day there doing business and chatting with the Queen, that would suit him just fine.

It was early afternoon and Arthur was well into his second cup of tea with the Queen when the doorbell rang. He paused and listened as the footman answered the door. He could only hear the murmurings of a conversation, but then one of the voices started to rise and Arthur frowned. It sounded uncomfortably familiar. He cleared his throat and attempted to return to his previous conversation with the queen. She smiled slightly and gave him a short, quiet reply.

It wasn't long before there was a slam, as if someone had pushed the door out of the doorman's hands by force, and the voice began to rise. Arthur jumped. "_I am the fucking United States of America!_ Just let me through _the fucking door!"_

Arthur nearly dropped his teacup. He stared at the door to the queen's sitting room as if Alfred were on the other side of it, not down a flight of stairs. Alfred almost _never _lost his temper, and he definitely never, ever did it at Arthur's house.

"Is Alfred still in town?" the queen asked politely.

Arthur hurriedly turned back to her. "Yes, I believe he is."

"He is very sweet, isn't he?" said the Queen. "If a bit hotheaded at times. Rather like you, my dear."

Arthur would normally have been surprised at the Queen's bluntness, but he was distracted by other things so he missed her smile. There were some shouts and the sound of pounding footsteps. The door to the Queen's sitting room suddenly slammed open. Arthur really did spill some tea on himself this time, but he quickly put the teacup and its saucer down. At the same time, guards were trying to block the door and one of them was shouting, "Your Majesty!" Through them, Arthur had a clear view of Alfred's very angry face.

"It's quite alright," the Queen said to the guards. She set her teacup and saucer down daintily on the table next to her. "Let the gentleman come in."

The guards hesitated for a moment, but then they quickly sprang to attention. Alfred had stopped struggling when he had seen Arthur and now he strode purposefully into the room. "Arthur," he said, and his voice was low and rough. "We need to talk."

"Now might not be the best time," Arthur said sharply. His back was ram-rod straight and he held himself stiffly.

Alfred's eyes narrowed. "Look, we can talk here if you want to. Because at this point, I don't really give a–"

"Alfred," Arthur said sharply, and his eyes flashed. Swearing in front of the queen was _not _on the list of things Alfred could get away with.

"Do you _know _what I found when I got back to my room?" Alfred said. "Five messages on my phone, and one of them was from the President telling me that you had told him everything and that he was _disappointed in my performance_." Alfred slammed a hand down on the small table in front of Arthur. Arthur jumped. The wood shattered and Alfred's hand went right through it. Arthur's teacup fell and broke on the floor. "I have _never _disappointed a president in my _life,_" Alfred snarled.

Arthur brushed a few splintered pieces of wood off his lap and stood as slowly and stiffly as he could manage. He was seething, and it was not because Alfred had just broken one of his favorite pieces of the Queen's china. Arthur met Alfred's eyes. "Perhaps if I informed him of your true activities more often, he would have more reason to be," he said, and he could not help the condescending sneer of his lip.

"_I am not a child!_" Alfred bellowed, and this time he punched a wall. The pastel-colored plaster crumbled around his fist, though luckily he did not brake all the way through. When he drew his hand away, Arthur registered that Alfred's knuckles were bleeding, but Alfred did not seem to notice. "You have no right to interfere in the running of my country."

"I thought you wanted to leave," Arthur snapped. "I have given you quite a good excuse, and the push to do what your boss asked you to do."

"Don't bullshit me." Alfred grabbed Arthur by the collar. Arthur hissed through his teeth, but he knew there was no point in struggling. "You're the one who wanted me gone. The thing I can't figure out is _why. _You seemed pretty calm about everything yesterday!"

"Why don't you just punch me in the face," Arthur snarled. "I know you want to."

"You know I would never hurt you." Alfred's glare lessened only slightly. He gave Arthur a little shake. "So _why _did you hurt _me_?"

Arthur's mind immediately stuttered to a halt. He did not want to bring up the Revolution – the Rebellion – whatever it had been. "_I would never hurt you" – what nonsense, _part of his brain supplied nastily. But the problem was that Arthur knew Alfred was right. He had _rebelled, _but he had never gone across the sea and attacked Arthur on his own land, even though he had won his independence in a time when that was still a common occurrence. Maybe it had been common sense – Alfred would have lost, of course – but even so, Alfred had never wanted to fight that kind of war. He had only ever tried to regain what Arthur had taken from him. Arthur's anger dissipated. His eyes drifted away from Alfred's face. "That . . . wasn't my intention," he said finally.

There was a moment of silence. Alfred's grip on Arthur's shirt collar did not lessen, and Arthur wondered what he was thinking. Arthur looked back at Alfred. Alfred was frowning now, but in concentration, not in anger. There was a little crease between his eyebrows. Alfred licked his lips. "What . . ." he began, and stopped. "I . . ." His hands relaxed on Arthur's collar. Arthur thought he was going to pull away, but then he lowered his hands to Arthur's shoulders, met his eyes, and kissed him.

Arthur's mind went absolutely blank. In the over 400 years that they had known each other (that that number always struck him; could Alfred really have only been independent for slightly over half of that?), this had never been on the lists of probable (or even possible) occurrences. Part of him remembered all that they had been through and ran their history through his head like a film on fast-forward, but part of him was entirely lost. There was no cause for this. There was no explanation, nothing, and if Alfred was doing this for any reason but one, Arthur could not even imagine how painful that knowledge would be. All of this rushed though his mind in a split-second. So when Alfred pulled back and _looked _at him with something almost like love in his eyes, and before he could smile and make Arthur's heart melt the way it wanted to, Arthur slapped him across the face.

"How _dare_ you," Arthur spat, and he could feel his heart breaking for the second time in his life. "How dare you use me like that." Arthur was trembling and he could feel the tears building in his eyes. He had waited _so long_ and resigned himself to the fate of having to wait forever. What could Alfred know of that? How could Alfred possibly be so arrogant as to take Arthur's heart in his hands _again? _

Alfred just stared at him in shock. His cheek was rapidly turning red from the impact, but he made no acknowledgement of it. After a moment of absolute silence, Alfred blinked, turned, and left without a single word. The guards quietly closed the door behind him. Arthur stared blankly at where Alfred had been. He clenched his fists so hard he could feel his nails threatening to break the skin of his palms. After a moment, he went back to his chair, pulled his knees up to his chest, and buried his face in his arms.

"Arthur," the Queen said softly. "You should go after him. You cannot let him leave thinking what he is."

"He can think whatever the hell he wants," Arthur said hoarsely without looking up.

"No, he cannot." Arthur looked up at her with narrowed eyes. His Queen met his gaze with as much force. "Perhaps you have forgotten, but I have a duty to my country."

"I hardly see how that's relevant," Arthur said bitterly.

"Please, Arthur. You don't need to do this to yourself."

Arthur went home because he didn't trust himself around anyone else. He dialed Alfred's cell number, but he didn't answer. The next him he tried, Alfred's phone was off. Arthur let the phone fall from his ear. He did not doubt that Alfred had gotten the next flight he could, and was probably already on it – on his way home. Of course he wouldn't go and visit the other countries like he was supposed to, not after Arthur had driven him away like that. Arthur put down the phone and held his head in his hands.

"I did it again," he whispered.

It wasn't the first time he cried over Alfred, and it wouldn't be the last.

* * *

><p>When Alfred got back to the White House, he turned on his phone and looked at it blankly. Three missed calls popped up all at once. There was only one voicemail. "I'm sorry," said Arthur's voice. It was rough and grainy, as though he'd had bad reception. Alfred deleted all of them.<p>

"I thought there'd be more," he said to the empty air, and turned off his phone.

* * *

><p>Eighteen hours later, Arthur was trying very, very hard to not care anymore. He refused to leave Alfred any more messages because of the principle of the thing, but sometimes he forgot to end the call before it went to voicemail, and Alfred ended up with a series of messages containing only distressed breathing. Arthur finally called Alfred's extension at the White House after the second bottle of sherry, but the receptionist picked up and Arthur ended the call with only a single unkind word of exclamation. After that, Arthur really, truly stopped calling.<p>

* * *

><p>Alfred was not going to pretend that it was easy.<p>

He had known Arthur for almost his entire life. Arthur was, if he was going to be honest about it, his best friend in a lot of ways. They had changed each other, Alfred knew that, and he didn't regret it at all. But all that history didn't make things simple. The more things they had in common, the longer the list became of things they couldn't talk about. Everything in Alfred's storage room? Couldn't talk about it. Why Alfred's birthday made Arthur so upset? Couldn't talk about it. The first two-hundred or so years of Alfred's history? Couldn't talk about it. A large part of Alfred's life was on that list, including some of his fondest memories, and sometimes it pissed him off. Alfred's feelings should have been the only thing he kept from Arthur, but sometimes that seemed to be the least of their problems.

When the housing and stock markets had crashed, Alfred had realized a lot of things. The first was that he wasn't invincible. It reminded him a lot of the Great Depression, something which he had hoped would he would never come close to again. The second was that Alfred could hurt Arthur, really damage him, without even meaning to. Globalization wasn't something he and Arthur had had to deal with back in the day. Countries were autonomous or ruled by an empire, and that was that. When Alfred had withdrawn into isolation, Arthur had lost resources, but that had been it. It wasn't like that anymore. Alfred had the power to send other countries into bankruptcy – indirectly, but still – if he wasn't paying attention. Arthur hadn't been hit that hard, comparatively, but other countries had. That scared Alfred. It scared him a lot.

Feeling this way about Arthur had never been easy. That didn't mean Alfred was about to stop.

* * *

><p>Two days after Alfred left, Arthur got a call.<p>

"Hello?" said Arthur dully, his heart already sinking in his chest because he knew it wouldn't be from Alfred.

"I am calling from 10 Downing Street on behalf of the Prime Minister."

"Ah."

"He has asked me to inform you that there is a man here to see you without an appointment. His name is Alfred Jones?"

"What?" snapped Arthur. He hung up before he could be given an answer and went straight there. His Prime Minister met him at the door.

"Well?" demanded Arthur. He knew he was very pale and in a worse mood than usual, but he gave the Prime Minister a glare and silently dared him to mention it. He didn't know exactly how much his officials knew about what had happened, but he assumed the worst and didn't want to hear it.

"He insisted I ask you to come here," the Prime Minister said in a low voice, and led him towards a sitting room. "If you'd like me to join you . . ."

"No."

"Very well." The Prime Minister opened the door and Arthur stepped inside.

Alfred was standing in the room as formally as if he were up for inspection, and he looked as pale as Arthur felt. When he saw Arthur, his lips tightened. Their eyes locked for a long moment, each unwilling to give way, but when Arthur came to a stop, he glanced at what Alfred was holding in his hands. It was a folded triangle of cloth, navy blue and decorated with white stars. Arthur forgot himself and stared at it for a moment in shock.

"I thought it would be better if I did this officially," Alfred said stiffly, and Arthur's eyes snapped back to his. "Especially since you let me down so nicely the last time I tried." Alfred nearly spit the words, and Arthur tried to harden his expression to avoid showing how much it hurt that Alfred was that angry with him. Alfred looked away, his jaw working as he clearly tried to maintain what little composure he had. "I don't need you to say anything, because I don't care anymore. I don't need your approval, but I do need you to shut up and listen, because you're the shittiest listener I've ever met."

Arthur glared at him and expected Alfred to do the same in response, but after a deep breath, Alfred looked at him and his gaze actually softened. For a moment, a sorrow was visible in those eyes that was so intense, Arthur looked away. "I say a lot of things to you that I don't mean," Alfred said more quietly, "But I mean everything that I _do_. I didn't kiss you because I thought it was funny." Arthur took a breath and met his eyes. There was only pure sincerity in Alfred's eyes now. "I did it because I . . . love you. I have – loved you for a really long time. And so," he continued with a shaking breath, looking away when Arthur didn't, because Arthur had stopped breathing and there were tears in his eyes and _goddammit _if he started crying now – "I came to give you this."

Alfred unfolded the flag, though he couldn't do it properly because it was too big and there was only one of him. After a certain point, he just shook it out and threw one end over his shoulder so that it draped down without touching the floor. The red and white stripes flowed down his shoulder and side while he still held the blue and white corner in one hand, and the adjacent corner in his other. Alfred met his eyes steadily again, and Arthur couldn't look away. "It has thirteen stripes because I'm proud of where I came from, and I always will be. If I hadn't won my independence I wouldn't be who I am today, and I don't regret that. I do regret that I couldn't say this to you in a way you could understand earlier." He paused and licked his lips. "There was a while when I wanted to be equal to you, not just so that you'd respect me or be my friend – though I wanted those to – but so that maybe I'd be worthy enough for you to love me back." Alfred shrugged. "I get that that isn't really how things work, and I've figured out that there are more important things to me than having you so–" He held out the flag as best he could, beautiful even then, and close enough for Arthur to see it in all its glory. "Will you take it, and be my ally for as long as we last?"

"You sodding idiot," Arthur choked out. "I didn't think you were joking. I thought you were trying to humiliate me the way I–" Tears were blurring his vision, and Arthur had to stop talking for a moment. He blinked them angrily away and wiped a stray one that fell. He held out shaking hands. "Of course I'll bloody well take it."

Alfred almost smiled. He handed Arthur one end and folded it up for him, back into that little navy blue triangle. When he was done, he pressed the finished bundle into Arthur's hands and lifted his own away. Arthur held it gently against his chest. "I thought that after I had hurt you, you wanted to hurt me in the only way you could." Arthur was pleased to find that his voice didn't waver at all. He met Alfred's eyes, which were now looking at him curiously. "I love you, and I always have. I will never not want you as an ally." He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them Alfred's face had become guarded again, clearly waiting for the rejection. "I also love you as much more than a friend, and though that has not always been the case" – he smiled slightly, but genuinely – "I always will."

It was Alfred's turn to look shocked. "Are you serious?" he whispered, and went deathly pale. Arthur, the flag still clutched in one hand, covered the two steps between them and pulled Alfred into a kiss. Alfred froze for an instant, but then he relaxed into it, his eyes slid close, and he put his hands on the small of Arthur's waist. Arthur pressed closer and tangled his free hand in Alfred's hair. It was so much more wonderful than the one in front of the Queen, so much more wonderful than Arthur could have imagined. He didn't care that he and Alfred were pressed awkwardly close, that Alfred's glasses bumped painfully against his nose, that Alfred wasn't kissing him properly at all. It didn't matter, because it was Alfred, and there could be nothing more wonderful in the world than that.

When he pulled away, Alfred kept his eyes closed and his mouth slightly parted as though if he opened his eyes it would end. Arthur smiled. _I will never give you reason again to doubt me, _he thought_._

"Are you serious?" Alfred whispered again. "Really, honestly serious this time, Arthur?"

Arthur leaned close and whispered against Alfred's lips, "Yes." Alfred's eyes opened, so very blue, and when he grinned it was as though the whole room lit up. He tugged Arthur against him and kissed him again, and again, until Arthur laughed and pushed him away because he couldn't breathe.

"Can I take you to see the Queen?" Alfred asked, and before Arthur could react he had put a hand behind Arthur's knees, the other behind his back, and scooped him up bridal style. Arthur squawked and Alfred grinned. "Should I ask her permission?"

"I think you already have that," said Arthur, and though he tried to look grumpy at being manhandled in such a way, Alfred kissed his cheek and he smiled. He traced a finger along Alfred's cheek and kissed him tenderly. "Besides," he murmured when they parted, "The politics can wait until later."

Alfred's smile faded slightly. "Oh. There are going to be politics, aren't there."

"But not _now,_" Arthur repeated, and kissed Alfred again.

They had waited for centuries, and all that could stand to wait for a day.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note:<em> Only one chapter left!

There are quite a few reasons why I chose to use Alfred's flag as a symbol for his devotion to Arthur. (I originally tried to work this into that last scene, but I couldn't find the space, so I'll just explain it here.) The obvious reasons are that he's clearly proud of it, it represents him (50 stars for 50 states), and it represents his history (13 stripes for 13 colonies, and the flag went through a new iteration pretty much every time a state was added). However, the US is actually pretty unusual in how it treats its flag, which I didn't realize until I started researching this. There are laws for pretty much every situation concerning a flag that you can think of (see the United States Flag Code – there's an entire page on Wikipedia devoted to it). It has to be folded in a very specific way, and it has to be disposed in a specific way under certain circumstances. The Union Jack, by comparison, only has to be disposed of in a specific way, and I couldn't find any requirements for the Flag of England.

So, my head-canon is that to Alfred, giving Arthur his flag in this way is basically offering himself.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9_

Alfred's favorite thing about the flag, though he didn't know if Arthur had noticed, was that its colors were specific shades of cream, dark red, and dark blue. It wasn't just an American flag he had had made; it was a federal flag. He had even let his boss know he was having it made, though he hadn't said why or what it was for. In his mind, it was as legally binding as his signature on a document.

Alfred crashed at Arthur's house for the next few days, because he frankly didn't care what his boss wanted right then. Though Arthur chided him for it, he didn't really care either. He did remember to ask his PM to call Alfred's boss and let him know that his country was going to be absent for a few days, though.

(Unbeknownst to him and Alfred, their bosses had quite a little chat on the phone. Arthur's boss expressed his strong suspicions about what had happened, and though Alfred's boss told him he had to be wrong, he secretly agreed with him. They mused about what they were going to do if their countries were actually in a romantic relationship while somehow managing not to mention the subject directly at all.

For some reason, neither of them thought to talk to the Queen.)

Alfred finally left for the US only after he had extracted a promise that Arthur would visit him in three days.

Arthur showed up in under two.

* * *

><p>Alfred bounded down the stairs to the central foyer of the White House before Arthur was even all the way through the door. "Artie!" he said, grinning from ear to ear. His President was already there and prepared to greet the country with a smile. The door closed behind Arthur, and Alfred noticed that Arthur wasn't looking at him or his President. He was looking at the box his aide was holding out to him. He took off the lid, and Arthur carefully pulled something out of it. Alfred stopped after taking only a few steps towards him. Something sat carefully in Arthur's hands that was red and blue with a thin sliver of white. Arthur strode evenly towards Alfred and, without a word, held out the Union Jack.<p>

Alfred's smile was gone. He stared at the folded flag. "You didn't have to–" he started slowly.

"I did," Arthur said crisply. Then, more quietly: "I would have given it to you earlier, but I had to have it made."

Alfred swallowed. He took the flag carefully and stared at it for a moment. He looked up at Arthur, entirely serious. "Does this mean . . . ?"

Arthur blushed and looked away, but he looked more nervous than embarrassed. "It can't be legally binding without documentation," he said gruffly. "Just . . . if you ever don't want it, give it back. I'll understand."

Alfred's throat worked because he wanted to say that he would never, ever even think of such a thing, but he wasn't sure he could speak right then. Alfred looked down at the flag in his hands. For a moment, he looked as though he might cry.

His President cleared his throat. "Can I ask what's going on?"

Alfred's gaze came back up to Arthur's eyes and his smile returned. He looked at his President and grinned. "Arthur and I just – well –" He looked back at Arthur and Arthur could see that there were tears in his eyes. Arthur's face softened and before he knew it, Alfred had taken a step forward and wrapped him in his arms. Alfred laughed into his hair. Arthur couldn't help a smile as he settled his arms around Alfred's waist. After a moment, Alfred pulled away and took one of Arthur's hands, the other still grasping the flag. "Hey, you're really smiling!" Alfred said, his own smile wider than any Arthur had ever seen. "I finally made you get rid of that grouchy old man face, huh?"

Arthur's smile turned wry. "If you insist on taking credit for it in such a flattering manner."

Alfred grinned and looked at the flag in his hands. "Where should I put it? Where did you put yours?"

"I haven't decided yet," Arthur said. He had nearly brought it with him, despite its size, but at the last minute had decided that he didn't need to be a sentimental fool anymore. He didn't need to carry around reminders of Alfred, because he had the real thing.

Alfred looked around them. "There's probably space here in the foyer."

"Don't scare off the other dignitaries."

Alfred laughed. "Like they don't know." His smile quickly turned uncertain. "I mean, not about this. I didn't tell them. Just that we're, you know . . ."

They were both awkwardly silent for a moment and blushed slightly. "The Special Relationship?" the President hazarded.

"Yes," they said in unison.

"Look, I don't know what's going on," the President said with a grin, because okay, the Prime Minister had definitely been right (not that he was about to tell him that), "but Arthur, how would you like to stay for dinner?"

"That would be lovely," Arthur said gratefully, and he and Alfred shared a long, lingering smile.

* * *

><p>Even during dinner, it was clear that reality was beginning to set in. Though the President did his best to direct the conversation in a personal direction for Arthur's sake, it inevitably came back to politics. After dinner, Arthur and Alfred sat on a couch in one of the less formal sitting rooms while Alfred's President spent some rare time with his family. The two of them were quiet for a moment, and they could hear laughter from the part of the house where the President was telling his wife about his day. It had been a long day, and Arthur rested his head gently on Alfred's shoulder. Though Arthur could have blamed his fatigue on a long day of travel, they were both still in recession. Their personal happiness did little to ease the stress on their economies. After a moment, Alfred put an arm around his shoulders and ran his fingers through Arthur's hair.<p>

Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. "Do you worry it will matter, that this isn't official?" he finally asked. He knew he shouldn't care, but after centuries of experience with the kinds of unofficial alliances countries made, he couldn't quite crush the fear that their relationship wouldn't be taken seriously. He didn't want to have to contemplate a scenario where he and Alfred would be forced to damage their relationship because of what their bosses wanted – or worse, that the stress of trying to separate politics from their personal lives would drive them apart altogether.

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked curiously.

Arthur sighed again, less happily this time. "It's not just about the politics. I know my people haven't had a say in this, and yours certainly haven't. I wish there was a way to take a poll of all our people, and just _ask _them if they approved of us."

"I don't know, I don't think it's that difficult to tell," Alfred said. Arthur looked at him, clearly inviting him to elaborate, so he did. "I don't know about your guys, but the Queen seems pretty happy about it, so that's something, right? Plus, I saw someone walk by with an American flag shirt on the other day when I was at your place, and they didn't feel like one of my citizens, so that has to mean something." He shrugged. "As for my people, they don't really know it, but they're head over heels for you." He grinned.

Arthur pulled his head off Alfred's shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "And how's that?"

"See, most of my people have this idea that you Brits are basically just Americans who talk funny. They think your accent is cute and stuff, but they don't really know _why._" Arthur blushed and muttered something under his breath. "Deep down, though, they know that you guys are completely different from us. You have this culture that is totally different from ours and this history that goes back forever." Alfred grinned. "And that's how I know that I'm not making this up." Alfred took Arthur's hands and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "They love you to bits, just like I do."

"That's not enough of a reason," Arthur said, his face a flaming red. "I hardly think that _all _of them–"

Alfred laughed, the kind that jumpstarted Arthur's heart (which may or may not have been a good thing). "My people are all over the place on a lot of stuff, Artie, but there's not a single one of them who completely hates you. And trust me, that's saying a lot."

Arthur had to smile at that. He understood very well how divisive politics were. "How very kind of you to say so," he said dryly as he looked away, but he knew from the way Alfred laughed that he had noticed Arthur's tone.

Maybe they would be alright.

* * *

><p>A few months later, Arthur leaned back in his chair while he listened to the phone ring and waited for Alfred to pick up. His gaze drifted to the American flag hung up on his wall. Flags were meant to be flown, of course, but here it was out of the sun and rain, and still on display as it should be. It took up a good part of the wall, and it certainly gave his officials quite a shock when they paid him personal visits in his study. Arthur smiled slightly at the memory of the first one who had suggested he take it down, or at least put up a Union Jack to balance it out.<p>

He wasn't _that _self-centered.

"Hello?"

Arthur's smile turned warm. "Hello, Alfred."

"Artie! What's up?"

"I wanted to check about plans for when the Prime Minister and I visit this week."

"Sure! We've got space in the White House for the PM, and I was thinking that you and I–"

"I was going to book rooms at a hotel."

Arthur didn't need to be able to see Alfred's face to know that the silence on the other end of the line was accompanied by an expression of deep disappointment. "What? But – _Arthur. _There's tons of space at my place!" 

"This is supposed to be a formal visit," Arthur reminded him.

"Yeah, for our bosses! I hardly get to see you."

Arthur smiled slightly. "I miss you too, love," he said softly, and continued before Alfred could get flustered. "I'm not being cruel. I just think it's best if we keep up appearances."

There was a short silence. "Oh. _Oh," _said Alfred, and Arthur could practically hear his grin over the phone. "Gottchya. I'll see you in a few days?"

"Tuesday," Arthur confirmed. From there, as these supposed business calls often did lately, the conversation turned more personal and Alfred began to chatter happily about his day. If their bosses had noticed that Arthur and Alfred's conversations and personal visits had gotten a lot longer and more frequent lately, they hadn't said anything to either of them about it. Even the officials not quite so high up in their governments had doubtless noticed that the two countries were in better moods than they had been in years. No one was complaining.

After Arthur finally hung up the phone, he only wasted a few minutes to gaze into the distance with a smile before he left his desk. He had packing to do.

* * *

><p>As promised, Arthur and his boss arrived safely on Tuesday. It had been a while since the Prime Minister had seen Alfred, and they talked casually for a moment when he and Arthur stopped by at the White House. As the PM and Arthur were leaving for the hotel with the assurance that they would see Alfred again tomorrow for the meeting, he privately thought that it had gone quite well. Alfred really was a nice chap.<p>

Wednesday morning, the Prime Minister knocked on the door to Arthur's room with the expectation that Arthur would be awake, dressed, and prepared to discuss the specifics of the topics of that day's meeting. He was, in fact, correct on all accounts, but utterly unprepared for what greeted him.

"Howdy," Alfred said with a grin. "Looking for Artie?"

The Prime Minister stared. Alfred was currently wearing nothing but a pair of briefs with the Union Jack printed on them.

The Union Jack.

Arthur's flag.

The Prime Minister opened his mouth and then closed it. "Perhaps it would be better if I came back later?" he tried.

"Nah, he's up. Hey Artie, it's your boss." Alfred left the door open and walked back into the hotel room. The Prime Minister followed hesitantly and was relieved to find Arthur fully dressed and sitting by the window, reading the newspaper.

"Oh, hello," Arthur said mildly to his boss. "Alfred, put some clothes on, would you?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go take a shower, actually." Alfred gathered up some clothes that were scattered on the floor and sauntered over to the attached bathroom.

"Good idea," Arthur said without, the Prime Minister noted, the slightest hint of sarcasm.

Dear God. His country had, so to speak, gotten laid.

"Sorry about that," Arthur said as he folded up the newspaper. "Have a seat. I take it you want to discuss the meeting?"

"Er, yes," the Prime Minister said, and took the offered chair. Well, he decided, if Arthur wasn't going to mention the mostly-naked man in his room, he wouldn't either.

Speaking of, though, Alfred's President owed him quite a few quid.

* * *

><p>Living for a very long time did not mean that time lost its meaning for countries. After a while, it took on a whole new significance. Time meant the fall of empires and the birth of new ones, battles and bloodshed for things worth fighting for. The little things, too, were important. Every piece of their history was engraved on their hearts, and though they might not remember everything clearly, they never truly forgot. So a single kiss placed on Arthur's lips just before he fell asleep, or a brush of hands as two aging countries walked down a street looking no different than their citizens, were just as valuable as the things that changed the fates of countries forever.<p>

* * *

><p>Arthur had fallen asleep some time ago, and he had leaned far enough to the side that he was resting on Alfred's shoulder. Alfred had put an arm around his shoulder and was just sitting, enjoying the moment.<p>

"Would you like something to drink, sir?"

Alfred looked up at the airline stewardess and smiled. "Some sprite for me, and just water for my friend for when he wakes up."

She nodded and poured out the drinks. Alfred flipped the tray down in front of him and took them one after the other. She moved on to the next row, and Arthur moved a little closer to Alfred but didn't wake up.

Three thousand miles. Alfred knew that somewhere beneath them right now was the Atlantic, rolling in endless waves – no man's land, something that belonged to no country. It was a long flight, and Alfred had grown used to dreading it, but with Arthur by his side, it didn't matter any more. It didn't matter where he was coming from or going to, as long as they were together.

Someone spoke too loudly a few seats over and Arthur woke up. Alfred watched him rouse with a smile. Arthur saw the way he was looking at him and frowned, blinking. "What is it?"

"I love you so much," Alfred said, and Arthur's frown disappeared.

Arthur smiled slightly and pressed a kiss to Alfred's forehead. "I love you too," he said softly.

_And I always will. _

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>Thank you all very much for sticking with this story. I have enjoyed writing it and am very fond of it, so I'm very happy if you have enjoyed it too. :) I am sorry to see it end.

If you aren't already aware, I have a second account here called **SouvenirsFamiliers**. I post Thor/Loki and Charles/Erik fics there, so if those interest you, check it out. It is currently more active than this account, though this will certainly not be the last USUK fic I post. :) You can also find me on Tumblr, where I am **unnecessaryligatures**. (Links to both are in my profile.)

Thank you all very much for your kind comments and for reading! I really appreciate it. You guys make me really love being a part of this fandom.


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